


Back to Black

by Diripio



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe with canon resemblance, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Edward being a jealous bitch, Edward being creepily sweet, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Freak Family (Gotham), Friends to Lovers, Fun with Harvey Bullock, Idiots in Love, Jerome DOES know how to smile, Jim Gordon doesn't know how to smile, LOTS of Scheming, M/M, Mother Issues, Mutual Pining, Olga is love Olga is life, Oswald drinks too much, Psychological Trauma, Riddles, Season 3/Season 4 merge, Slow Burn, Smut, Wayleska starts in c.24, lots of dress descriptions, tons of niche knowledge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 192,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22825378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diripio/pseuds/Diripio
Summary: When Oswald confesses his love to Edward in an argument about Isabella, his friendship with the former forensic scientist threatens to go down the drain. While plotting to kill the librarian for stealing Edwards love and attention, Oswald receives advice that makes him reconsider his love. Meanwhile, Ed has to struggle with the fact that part of him wants to be close to Oswald, while the other part wants to deny any feelings that go beyond friendship. But even when two people love each other, a relationship between them is not always easy - especially when both are carrying psychological problems. How will their relationship affect them? How will it affect Gotham and it's criminal underworld?
Relationships: Isabella/Edward Nygma (brief), Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 134
Kudos: 365





	1. How the maid foiled a murder

**Author's Note:**

> My frist try writing in english (I'm slightly nervous about it)

**Chapter 1**

How the maid foiled a murder

"You really are a charmer, Mr. Nygma. If you keep spoiling me like this, I soon won't be able to fit into my skirts," Isabella giggled and then leaned forward with her lips open to let Edward feed her with scrambled eggs.

"Then there would be all the more for me to love," replied her Lover with a rapturous purr.

Oswald just wanted to throw up.

How much longer would he be able to stand this? Edward and this librarian had only been together for three days and she had already stayed overnight - in _his_ mansion!

"Thalia watches over me with high kothurn; I educate and yet I am neither a school nor a mother; society, politics and culture I bother. What am I?", Edward asked with sparkling eyes.

Isabella grinned broadly and then clapped her hands euphorically as she fluted the answer of the riddle in a childlike manner towards the ceiling. "A theater."

"Correct!" Edward gave her a thumbs-up and then pulled out two tickets from the inside pocket of his dark green wool jacket with the grass-green vertical stripes. "Tonight. Seven thirty. I'll pick you up."

"Oh, Edward," purred Isabella. "What did I do to deserve such a wonderful man?"

They smiled in love, looked deep into each other's eyes, then bent over for a chaste kiss.

Oswald turned up his nose at this romantic sight, then stared down at his plate and shoveled scrambled eggs and sausages between his lips. He could already not stand it any longer. She had to go - preferably for good.

After breakfast Edward led his girlfriend to the front door and they said goodbye with another kiss before he returned to the kitchen and sat back at the table with a much too cheerful grin. Olga was just clearing the dishes, while Oswald sat silently in his chair, one finger tapping restlessly on the tabletop.

"What do you think of her?" Ed asked, longing for an affirmation of Isabella's perfection.

Oswald bit his lower lip from the inside, then raised his eyes and forced himself to smile. "Lovely." Edward's radiance was like a dagger in his heart, and it was harder than usual for him to maintain the facade of a supportive best friend.

"Isn’t she? She is perfect for me in every way. I thought that after Miss Kringle, I could never feel this way again."

Oswald smiled sadly. If he hadn't felt pain before, that one sentence might have made him snivel in agony. Of course Edward didn't know how Oswald felt about him, but couldn't he still be a little less cruel?

"Don't you think she looks a little _too much_ like your ex-girlfriend? I mean, I've never seen 'Miss Kringle' _in person_ , but from the pictures you showed me, I get the impression that the resemblance between her and Isabelle is frightening."

"Isabell **a** , Oswald, and I don't think they are too much alike," Edward corrected strictly and then squinted aimlessly across the room. Nervousness mingled with his words, restlessness, a reeling due to accelerated breathing and his fingers started fiddling on the frame of his glasses. "Maybe they have similar features - yes - but her hair is different and she doesn't wear glasses." He pronounced it as if he had to convince himself, then fumbled with his fingers on the tabletop, interweaving them in a desperate seek for hold. "Maybe fate just wants to tell me I still have a second chance at love." This seemed to convince at least himself, for his smile returned.

Oswald briefly tightened the corners of his mouth. "It is unusual for a logical man like you to believe in something as illogical as fate." Isabella was definitely not Edward's fate - if anything, she was Oswald's punishment for his own cowardice. The last few days he had confronted himself again and again with the question what would have happened if he had confessed his love to Ed immediately. If he had been just a little braver, Edward might have fed _him_ with scrambled eggs at breakfast today.

Subconsciously, he shook his head. As beautiful as the idea was, it was unlikely. Edward's sentence earlier had confirmed it after all: the chief of staff had no romantic feelings whatsoever for his superior - not now and not even before Isabella's fateful appearance.

"Isabella once said to me, love follows no logic," Edward argued, and in his mind seemed to be already back with his girlfriend.

Oswald leaned forward in his seat and cleared his throat once, freeing it from the unpleasant lump of rejection. "All I mean is, logically, this woman is too... _perfect_... " He struggled with the word 'perfect', spewing it out like a slimy lump of blood after a brief hesitation.

Edward curled his brows. "What do you mean?"

"She looks like your ex-girlfriend, likes riddles, has no problem with your Arkham past, even though you only know each other for a few days - don't you think that's strange? Isn't that a bit _too_ convenient?" Oswald argued, waving his hands in an effort to attract attention. "And..." He faltered. Did he really want to go that far in his accusations? "Are you really sure that after three days you can speak of love? Aren't you just projecting your feelings for your dead girlfriend onto Isabelle?"

"Isabell **a** , Oswald!" Edward intervened harshly, giving his friend an indignant look.

Oswald turned his head, but kept himself from rolling his eyes. He found it difficult to learn the names of people who were no more worthy than worms.

"And besides, every love has its own pace. I love Isabella and she loves me." Edward said and Oswald inevitably expected a cold-spoken 'period' at the end of the sentence.

Edward's previous joy had given way to an angry irritation, and Oswald was sure that another sentence on the subject would bust Edward's patience into pieces. So he left it there for now, got up from his seat and made his way to the first floor to dress for today's duties. He would resume the conversation some other time. Perhaps by then Edward had thought about his suspicions and understood Oswald's distrust of this woman.

\---

As far as Oswald's duties as mayor today went, there were no further disputes between Edward and him: the opening of the new building in Gotham's daycare center - photo here, handshake there - the discussion about the demolition of the empty bank in which Fish had once taken up residence with Dr. Strange's monsters, and the planning of a monthly citizens' consultation. But when they entered Oswald's program as the Kingpin of the underworld late in the afternoon and were attending a meeting of all the underground bosses aimed at raising gun taxes and protection money in light of the Tetch murders, the otherwise so dutiful Edward left his post at Penguin's side and disappeared from the boardroom with his cell phone at his ear.

"Please excuse me, gentlemen" Oswald stood up from the head of the long table, grabbed his cane and followed Edward with bumpy steps into an adjacent room. The door was only ajar and he could hear the last scraps of conversation as he leaned his shoulder against the door frame. Edward stood with his back to the door, his gaze gliding out the window.

"Me too," he cooed quietly into his cell phone, pressing the plastic case with lithium core close to his cheek as if it was Isabella herself.

"Edward?" Oswald once tapped gently on the stone floor with his cane, tightened the corners of his mouth in soothing kindness as his friend turned to him in surprise.

"I have to hang up now, Isabella," he said into the cell phone and then folded it up to let it disappear into his inside jacket pocket. As he now turned towards Oswald, a smile lay on his lips, with deep dimples drawn on his clean-shaven cheeks. It was a smile the likes of which Oswald had not received from Edward since Isabella's appearance, and in a touch of weakness he returned it.

"What is it, Oswald? Is the meeting over yet?"

Oswald nervously pressed his eyelids together, lost his voice briefly at the sight of a smiling Edward. "No, I just wanted to talk to you alone for a minute." He shuffled further into the room, stopped in front of his friend and gave him a remorseful look. "I wanted to apologize for this morning. I shouldn't have gotten so involved in your relationship." He was only half sincere. Oswald still felt Isabella's existence was poison to Edward, but he was also reluctant to argue with the former forensic scientist.

"Already forgiven, Oswald," Edward replied warmly and crossed his delicate fingers in front of his belly button. "We are friends - I understand that you are only worried about me. But you must trust me. Isabella is a wonderful person. She loves me deeply and she makes me happy."

He tried to calm Oswald with those words, but they only made his suffering worse. Perhaps it was childish of him, but Oswald didn't want Isabella to make Edward happy. He wanted to be the only one to receive this warm smile from him; he wanted Edward's full attention and that adoring look that had always given Oswald a nervous flutter of heart during his campaign for mayor.

But as long as Isabella was there, he wouldn't get any of this.

\---

Edward spent the evening on a date with Isabella as announced at breakfast. Oswald had been pursuing his usual occupation since sunset: getting drunk in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace. Recently, he combined this alcoholic pleasure with a creative game: to think up the cruelest possible death for Isabell **a**.

He sipped from his whiskey glass. "I wonder how spectacular it would be if, during the final act, a chandelier were to come loose and crush poor, unprepared Isabelle underneath?" He smiled at the thought of her shattered skull, only to snort uncomfortably because he had imagined how desperate Edward would be if this were to happen. He could not possibly do that to him. If he really wanted to kill Isabella, he had to wait until she was alone. "Gabe could wait for her in her apartment," he murmured, generously pouring himself a new glass. "And make sure she stumbles unpropitious and bangs her head open. After all, most deaths still happen in the household," he giggled throatily.

But things were to turn out differently.

Shortly before midnight the front door opened and the quiet laughter of two people filled the hallway.

"Sssh, we don't want to wake up the mayor," laughed a voice that Oswald clearly recognized as Edward's. A woman giggled in response. Isabella. He had brought her home again.

Oswald hardened the grip around his whiskey glass while he could hear the two lovers walking along the corridor, inevitably passing him to get to the first floor.

Isabella was startled when she saw Oswald sitting silently in front of the fireplace and then giggled nervously, "Good evening, Mr. Mayor," she greeted with a false politeness and with that strange smile that always seemed mocking from Oswald's point of view.

"Good evening, Oswald," greeted Ed as well and adjusted his glasses with fidgety fingers.

Oswald snorted, not turning his face from the flames. "Has she no bed of her own?" A sneering grin was carved into his face. The alcohol had made his tongue lighter and sharper.

Edward flinched in irritation, not understanding where the sudden hostility was coming from. "Oswald!" he warned sternly. 

Meanwhile, Isabella played the insightful one. She laid a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder to appease him, while guiltily averting her gaze. "No problem, Edward. After all, this is the mayor's house and if he doesn't like my presence, I'll leave of course."

Edward covered the woman's hand with his own. "You go ahead to the car - I'll be right behind you."

Isabella then left the house with a satisfied grin, but not without saying goodbye to Oswald – again in a fake politeness.

"That was more than inappropriate," Edward warned after the front door had closed and no one was left in the villa except for him and Oswald.

Oswald let his lips pop open. "Sorry," he replied tiredly.

"Do I hear sarcasm?" growled Edward stunned, tearing up Oswald's fragile nerves.

Taking one last sip, Oswald slammed his whiskey glass on the side table next to the armchair and fought his way up from the upholstery, adjusting his clothes a little too aggressively before approaching Edward. "I'm tired of her being here all the time," he explained, sounding more forceful than he had imagined. At that moment his fear of losing Edward was completely overshadowed by his anger.

"Don't be so selfish, Oswald, I live here too," Edward hissed and formed his hands into trembling fists.

"Selfish?" Oswald crunched. All right, maybe his best friend was right and he was a little selfish, but... "I'm not the only one who's selfish here!" he stomped. "Have you ever thought about how I feel about you bringing her here all the time!?"

"I beg your pardon...?!" Edward stumbled over his thoughts. What was Oswald getting at? And suddenly something dawned on him. Shocked, he opened his eyes. "Don't tell me you're jealous?" Now it all made sense!

Caught, Oswald turned away, which was enough for Edward to confirm his suspicions.

He thoughtfully chewed his lower lip as his body turned into a strange calm. If you looked closely, you could see something like compassion in his features. "I guess I can't blame you. Isabella is an astonishing woman..."

"Wait- what!?" responded Oswald stunned. Edward didn't seriously believe that the King of Gotham had fallen in love with that vacuous librarian?! Hissing with horror, he turned away from Edward, drove his fingers over the edges of his hairline and hissed hunched towards the flames.

Edward wrinkled his forehead in disbelief. "Am I wrong?"

That was the moment when Oswald turned back to him, stomped the few steps towards him and raised an index finger in the direction of his chin. "You, Edward Nygma, are an absolute moron," he cried throatily.

Edward closed his eyes briefly as if he had to recover from this harsh insult to his intellect. "Would you tell me exactly what I'm wrong about?"

"I have no interest in Isabelle!" Oswald once stomped on the floor with his healthy leg.

"Isabella..."

"Whatever!"

"Then why does her presence bother you?"

"Because I'm interested in you, Ed - you fool!" While speaking, he tapped him several times with his index finger accusingly against his chest.

Edward recoiled, drawing loudly air between his lips, his brows drawn together in confusion. "W...what?" His voice was nothing more than a whisper, a gasp, wasted breath, swallowed by the unreality of the situation. "What are you trying to say, Oswald?"

Oswald sighed heavily, then straightened up and pushed his shoulders through. At this point, it didn't matter anyway. Now he could confidently say the three words he had been afraid of all those last days. "Ed, I love you."

At first a wave of relief rolled over him, but it was swallowed almost immediately by the uncomfortable silence that came from Edward's lips, which had widened in shock. All he could do now was to move forward - he couldn't go back – not any longer.

"Ed?" He chewed on the fleshy inside of his cheek. "Ed, say something..."

Edward shook his head inconspicuously and tensed the corners of his mouth in discomfort. "You..." He pointed at Oswald, "love," he paused, and then pointed at himself "me?" Doubt was buried in his gaze, brows raised, nostrils vibrating at every word.

Even before Oswald could answer, the taller man let out an amused snort, bent over laughing and dramatically wiped the wet corners of his eyes. "That is ridiculous - even if you try to look all so serious while saying it," he cackled.

The corners of Oswald's mouth lowered. Ed did not believe him. Now he had finally dared to confess his feelings and Edward played down his confession as a bad joke. "I'm not joking," he protested in a fading voice.

Ed's eyelids fluttered. His ears could hear Oswald but his mind could not - or at least did not want to - grasp what was being said. A strange anger grew out of the initial shock and amusement. If Oswald did not love him - and Edward could not believe anything else - then he must have had another reason for this confession.

"I cannot believe _how_ selfish you are, Oswald..." He shook his head, disgust grew in his face. "That you would go so far, and for what?! Because you can't share me?! You won't lose me as a friend or ally just because I'm in a relationship."

Oswald opened his lips in confused shock. Why couldn't Edward believe him that he loved him?! He didn't know what to say back to his best friend, his lips were still open, trembling with uncertainty, loosing themselves in stammering. "Ed, I-" He wanted to repeat it, until Edward believed him, but before he could say it a second time, Ed had raised a finger in admonition.

"Silence! I don't want to hear excuses." There was something vulnerable about the look on his face, his anger just a symptom of the perceived betrayal. "I really expected more from you – after everything we've been through."

"But, Ed-" Oswald raised his hands pleadingly. Why wouldn't Edward listen to him?!

"Not another word, Oswald!" he shouted, than added as calm as possible in the given situation: "I'm going to sleep somewhere else for a while."

"No! I won't let you go." It sounded more like a plea than a threat. Oswald had tears in his eyes. Had he really ruined everything? Not just his chance to be with Edward, but their friendship as well? "I mean... where are you going anyway?" he continued in tense composure.

Ed also seemed close to tears, but he had his emotions better under control than the sentimental Oswald. Only his lips trembled slightly and the way he spoke and moved made a rather indisposed impression. "I'm gonna stay with Isabella for now."

" _Isabella, Isabella_ \- she is not worthy of you," Oswald roared completely out of his mind, clenched both hands together in fists. His face burned with rage and even the tears that had meanwhile leaked from the corners of his eyes could not extinguish the flames.

Edward smashed his jaws together. "If you continue to oppose my relationship with Isabella, I will be forced to resign as chief of staff."

"You can't do that," breathed Oswald, referring more to the emotional level than the legal.

"I can, and I will." Edward lowered his gaze to the ground. "It's up to you."

And with these words, he turned and hurriedly left the mansion.

Oswald remained behind, struck dumb with emotion. He felt incapable, lonely and betrayed. His desperation was released when he tore the whiskey bottle from the side table and smashed it into the flames of the fireplace with a roar. The residual alcohol produced a high jet of flame, symbolic of the torture behind Oswald's temples.

He would kill that blonde bitch!

\---

When the next morning dawned, Oswald barely managed to get out of the sheets. Even Olga couldn't help it when she walked into his bedroom just before ten o'clock and pushed aside the heavy curtains.

"It's almost 10, Mr. Cobblepot," she said, admonishingly pursing her red painted lips.

Oswald growled in opposition and pulled his blanket higher, until his wild black hair was completely hidden. His skull roared, his limbs were heavy and numb.

"Food is downstairs - ready," informed the chubby maid and was about to leave the room when Oswald stopped her in the doorway with a question.

"Has Ed come home?"

Olga snorted. She simply could not understand why her boss was so attached to this man. Edward Nygma was... untrustworthy, at least in her eyes. Admittedly he said everything Oswald wanted to hear, beaming at him as if he were not the Penguin, but the born-again Jesus Christ, but at the same time he always seemed to radiate an eerie coldness, an uncertainty, a gloom - he was like a Janus god made flesh. Every time he had looked at Olga with his brown eyes, the brown eyes that - she could have sworn on it - seemed to get blacker from day to day, it had run cold down her back. Yes, unlike Mr. Cobblepot, Edward Nygma had belonged in Arkham - still belonged in Arkham, at least in Olga's opinion.

"I have no knowledge of whereabouts of Tall Man," she replied grimly and left the room with her nose high.

He should have known the moment Edward had left his mansion yesterday: he would not stand by him as his chief of staff for the time being.

Oswald gnashed his teeth. Killing Isabella now would not be a wise idea. Edward would immediately assume that he had his fingers in the pie; no matter how well he disguised it as an accident. But... as Edward had said yesterday, love followed no logic.

A wine glass with dissolved aspirin was already waiting for him at the breakfast table - Olga was extremely attentive; the musty smell that had accumulated overnight in the bedroom had not escaped her notice.

With an exhausted groan, Oswald sat down at the table and sipped from the glass. Although the table was richly set, and the smell of eggs, shiny strips of bacon and black coffee filled the room, he had no appetite. Grumbling, he pushed his plate away, leaned back in his upholstered chair and tipped the rest of the aspirin down his sticky throat.

If he wanted to kill Isabella, he had to know her routine. He had to know when she was alone and vulnerable, when he could give the order to his men, and in what way he could kill her.

"You! Eat," Olga said and almost sounded commanding. She stood at the other end of the table with her forefinger raised in a warning manner.

Oswald gave her a defiant look and then demonstratively pushed his plate a little further away. He wouldn't follow a maid's order.

Olga snorted. "What did Tall Man do?"

Oswald wrinkled his nose at the thought of last night, popped his lips open and then leaned forward to fold his hands on the tabletop. He blinked twice before speaking, as if he had to assure himself that no treacherous tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. "Edward will sleep somewhere else for the next few days. So you don't have to include him in any meals, Olga," he informed the maid, preserving the semblance of indifference that Olga had long known to be false. At the same time he had given her an answer to her question with this sentence, without showing the weakness of a man who needed a shoulder to cry on.

"He’ll come back soon," replied the maid with audible defiance. If she had her way, Edward Nygma could stay away for good. 

"I will see to that," Oswald muttered with an incipient smile on his lips. The expression on his face coupled with his statement made Olga raise an eyebrow, but she saved herself a comment. With the fiery temper of her boss, you always had to estimate exactly how far you could go without fearing consequences.

\---

While Oswald followed his daily duties without much dedication, always feeling a cold breeze on his right flank, he had assigned two of his men to follow Isabella unobtrusively and report to him every full hour.

Edward actually seemed to have stayed overnight with the librarian. Oswald's subordinates told him about how they had followed Ed and Isabella while shopping - strolling arm in arm across the miles. They had followed Isabella to her work, had watched Edward come by during her lunch break to bring her coffee and picking her up with his car in the late afternoon. Right now they were waiting in a car outside her house, keeping an eye on the entrance.

Oswald clenched one hand to a fist. If Edward continued to stay by his girlfriend like a shadow, it would be impossible for him to kill her. He would have to be patient, wait for the right moment - as he planned to do with Tabitha. Hooked on this idea, he thought nothing of it when his men told him late in the evening, while he was sitting in the car home, that Edward had left the house. He ordered them to stay put in front of Isabella's house.

He had just stuffed his cell phone back into his tails bag when he stepped through the door of the Van Dahl mansion. A startled squeak almost escaped him when he saw Edward standing in the hallway with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Hello, Oswald."

Oswald tense the corners of his mouth, before he smiled with delight. "Ed - good to see you." 

"This is not a friendly visit. Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice the men?"

Oswald finally entered fully, closed the door behind himself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I was not only your chief of staff for legal activities, Oswald. I know the faces of all your underlings, whether they wear sunglasses or not."

Oswald flinched his chin back. "I was worried." It was a lie and it wasn't a lie. "You said you'd sleep somewhere else for a while, but not that you wouldn't come to work, Ed." He shrugged, acting like he had no other choice but to have Edward and Isabella followed.

Edward shook his head barely noticeably. He decided to ignore Oswald's obvious lie and get straight to the point. "I thought I made myself clear yesterday when I told you not to interfere in my and Isabella's relationship."

Oswald took his lower lip between his teeth, chewed briefly and then released it with a deep swallow. His gaze wandered to the ground. "I don't want to lose you, Edward. You're my best friend..."

Ed tightened his jaws. "You're my best friend, too." He puffed out an unclean breath before adding in a weak voice, "Stay away from Isabella," and opened the door to leave the mansion.

But in the doorway, Oswald held him back with his words. He had drawn his brows deep into his field of vision, gave his best friend a knowing look. "She doesn't see you, Ed - not properly. And that's why sooner or later you'll kill her - like you did once before. You'll kill her and then you'll hate yourself for it."

Ed froze instantly. The words echoed between his ears, trapped in a floating infinity. Subconsciously he already knew, knew that Oswald was right, but he was not yet ready to accept this fact, so he disappeared without another word.

\---

Olga was still in the property at that time. She had decided to stay longer than usual because she hoped to get some information about what had happened between her boss and this Nygma. Since Oswald had told her bluntly a few days ago that he loved this man and wanted to confess his feelings to him, Olga already suspected that a confession of love was the reason for Nygma's absence. Possibly the cold chief of staff had rejected his boss.

If so, Olga wanted to be there for Oswald. She didn't say it openly to his face, but she cared a lot about the short man and it depressed her to watch him being dragged down by bad people like Edward Nygma. 

_He left no time to regret..._

She had just thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, tipped the dirty water bucket into the sink, when she thought she heard music from the living room. Curious to know what her boss was doing - because he rarely listened to music - she followed the depressing voice of Amy Winehouse, only to find Oswald stretched out on the sofa, in his hand a whiskey glass uncivilizedly filled to the brim. The contents seeped slightly over the rim, wetting the pale gray fingers as he brought the glass to his lips.

_Kept his dick wet with his same old safe bet..._

Olga watched the pitiful scene with a twisted stomach. "Grustnyy..." she sighed in her mother tongue before continuing to come forward to inform her boss of her presence.

_Me and my head high and my tears dry, get on without my guy..._

Oswald giggled throaty. It seemed as if he was laughing at himself, at the misery of his situation. He, the King of Gotham and elected mayor, sitting on his couch with heartache, getting drunk and listening to depressing music. How all his enemies would laugh at him, how ashamed all those would be, who he had outplayed on his way to the top, how much the press would tear him apart if they could see him now.

_You went back to what you knew, so far removed from all that we went through..._

Olga came into his field of vision. It was unusual that she was still in the mansion at such a late hour, but he was not surprised. Without any comment she took the empty whiskey bottle from the coffee table and left the room towards the kitchen.

Only a few seconds later and she returned with a wet rag, which she led over the surface of the table. Oswald had made a big mess when he had poured the drink. She arrived just in time for the refrain, which her boss hummed along with a sniveling smile.

_We only said goodbye with words. I died a hundred times. You go back to her and I go back to... I go back to... us..._

Oswald giggled darkly, then sipped from his glass and hit it with a loud sigh on the coffee table. "She should just kill the bitch," he said forcefully.

Olga faltered, pursing her red lips. "Then she would not love man," she replied.

Oswald blinked in confusion. What did the Russian maid mean? "Why not?"

"If she loves man, she’ll let him be happy."

"And what about her own happiness?" hissed Oswald stubbornly.

Olga turned her head. "Own happiness isn't so important if love is real." The maid already suspected that this conversation wasn't really about Amy Winehouse and her fictitious lover, but about Mr. Cobblepot and Nygma, but she would allow her boss to communicate his feelings via projections, if it was easier for him that way.

_And life is like a pipe and I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside..._

Oswald thoughtfully ran his tongue over the upper row of teeth. "Sacrifice your own happiness for the person you love?" He wasn't sure if he could do that, but... he should try, shouldn't he?

Olga nodded. "Mr. Cobblepot?"

"Huh?"

"You deserve a man better than him."

Oswald was briefly paralyzed by the sudden shift to a personal level. Olga took that opportunity to clarify.

"If he doesn't appreciate you, someone else will." She raised her painted eyebrows and then said goodbye for the day.

To find someone willing to share his life and achievements with Oswald? Someone... who was not Edward Nygma?

He leaned forward, reached for his whiskey glass again and tipped the burning contents down in one go.

Just the thought alone felt like cheating - also on his mother and her understanding of love. After all, Edward was Oswald's 'one true love'! But what if the one true love did not love you back?

Tbc


	2. "Oswald"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow Edwards emotions and struggles after Oswalds confession and get a look at his inner demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance for the end scene! Sorry :) It... had to be(?)
> 
> And I changed the rating to "explicit" so I don't have to hold back (Smut won't happen often though)

Chapter 2

**"Oswald"**

Edward pulled his facial expressions into a stunned grimace. "Sometimes he is just so self-centered," he growled for the thousandth time, which made Isabella pant in annoyance. Today was her day off and she had planned to enjoy it with her lover. She had got up extra early, put on her best blouse - the one with the slightly ruched collar - and prepared a sweet breakfast for herself and Edward. Pancakes, syrup, hot fruit. With black tea, because Ed preferred tea to coffee, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Everything had been perfect!

She had woken him up with a kiss on the forehead and a lovely whisper, and then led him into the kitchen by the hand.

Everything _had been_ perfect. Until the moment it was no longer perfect. Namely, exactly the time when Edward had started to complain about Oswald with the morning paper in his hand - again. Last night he had already come home nagging. Oswald here, Oswald there and Isabella was sick of hearing about that beaky-nosed guy!

Apparently the mayor had confessed to his chief of staff that he loved him. A fact that Isabella had swallowed immediately. All those piercing looks in her direction, the sparkling eyes when Edward spoke to him. Oswald's feelings were written all over his face. Isabella was all the more astonished that Edward had not yet noticed and still didn't seem to believe it even after the confession. Instead, her boyfriend seemingly thought that Oswald's confession of love was part of a larger plan and Isabella had no intention of talking him out of it. She didn't necessarily see Oswald as competition, but it couldn't hurt to have Edward all to herself.

Edward was decorating a pancake with hot raspberries, meticulously arranging them in order of size with his fork to create a flowering rose before adding blueberries, arranging them into tiny leaves. "I mean, can you imagine someone going to such lengths as to fake love just because they have fears of loss?" He shook his head. "He's like a stubborn infant."

Isabella tightened the corners of her mouth in exhaustion, then tried to change the subject by rising from her seat and smoothing her blouse. "What do you think of my outfit?" she asked with sensuously pursed lips.

Edward blinked several times and then looked up at her. At that moment, Isabella had the feeling that he hadn't been a real guest in her house at all until that very moment. Although he had spoken to her, he had not necessarily spoken _to her._ And he seemed to notice it, too, because he briefly took off his glasses, wiped his eyes once before he put the black frame back on his nose and gave her a crooked grin.

"You look gorgeous."

She blushed, squinted sheepishly to the floor. "Thank you." In quick steps, Isabella strutted behind her lover, placing her hands on Edward's shoulders. "I don't think we should spend this lovely day talking about the mayor, don't you?" She bent her knees slightly as she spoke, breathing the words into Edward's nape with a hopeful purr. "There's so much better we could do instead..." she whispered tenderly.

Edward put his left palm on his girlfriend's hand, glancing apologetically over his shoulder. "I don't know if I'm in the mood..." He narrowed his brows. "I'm just too agitated right now."

Isabella parted her lips with astonishment. It was uncharacteristic of Edward to refuse her sexual advances - in fact, he had _never_ done so before! She forced herself to a soothing smile. "I see." But she wasn't ready to give up yet, instead kept pressing her fingers into his shoulders, kneading the fabric-covered flesh. "Then how about I give you a little massage to help you relax?"

Edward smiled stiff-faced. "Okay. But let me go to the bathroom first." He gently slapped the back of her hand twice and then rose from his seat. Isabella could not help but think that his walk to the bathroom seemed like he was running away from her.

\---

Arriving in the blue-painted bathroom, Edward leaned over the edge of the sink with a deep sigh, lowered his head into the porcelain and turned on the tap to wash his face. When he put his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and took a glance at his reflected features, he noticed his tired eyes and knew it couldn't go on like this.

The fight with Oswald affected him more than he was willing to admit. His head was in chaos and he could barely grasp a logical thought - which for a man like him was equivalent to torture!

Why did Oswald have to say that!? Why a confession of love!? Edward could not, by all means, imagine that Oswald had actually fallen in love with him. He tended to be childish and possessive and Isabella's frequent presence must have unsettled the Kingpin in his power over Edward. After all, Oswald did not see Ed as a real human being, he did not see anyone as a real human being, but more as pawns that he could use to his advantage when playing the games of the underworld. And as was the case with children, Oswald was reluctant to share his playthings. 

In light of this, Oswald was not really capable of truly loving anyone (with the exception of his late mother). Maybe he was attached to someone and did not want to lose that person, but his constant jealousy and selfishness prevented him from feeling real love. Love meant sacrifice, sacrificing your own needs and happiness for someone else and Oswald would be willing to sacrifice anyone for his own good without even the slightest hesitation - Edward was no exception. It was only through this behavior that Oswald had finally managed to become the King of Gotham, and Edward did not condemn him for it. After all, it had been him who had once told Oswald that he was better off without love.

But all this only made more apparent what Edward already knew: Oswald. could. not. love.

He thought he heard an annoyed growl behind him and immediately turned around on his heel but there was nobody in the room except for himself. His gaze glided back to the mirror, where he was startled when he saw his alter ego leaning against the bathroom cabinet with a smug grin.

"What do you want?" he growled.

The smile on Not-Ed's lips suddenly widened at this hostile tone. _"Just look at yourself. You really are pathetic."_

Edward snorted. "Nobody asked for your opinion."

 _"And yet here I am - willing to help."_ Not-Ed winked generously.

"What can you possibly help me with?"

His alter ego pushed himself off the bathroom cabinet and strutted across the room with arms folded behind his back. _"Have you ever considered why Oswald's confession affects you so much?"_

Edward narrowed his brows. "Because it's not true. He just said it so I'd pay him more attention," he replied confidently. What was his alter ego driving at?!

" _Shouldn't you not give a rat's ass if his confession is sincere? After all, you love Isabella. Unless, of course..."_ Not-Ed made his gaze circle in a meaningful way.

"Unless what?!"

Not-Ed shrugged. _"Unless... you love Oswald."_ He said it very slowly and with vibrating lips as if it were a national secret.

An uncontrollable laughter made Edward nearly sink to the floor. He?! In love with Oswald!? Never! "That's ridiculous!"

 _"Is it?"_ The man in the mirror underlined his skepticism by drawing circles with his forefingers.

"Yes, it is! I do not love him. I'm just mad because he's trying to jeopardize Isabella and my relationship."

 _"And yet it seems to worry you more that his confession might have been a lie than that he might try to hurt your girlfriend."_ His alter ego raised a palm to the ceiling like a shrewd diva.

Edward gritted his jaws loudly. His alter ego was right - and he hated to admit it. "Because he's my best friend - he shouldn't lie to me," he argued.

Not-Ed shook his head in disappointment. _"You are truly inferior to me in all things - except one... you have mastered the art of fooling yourself."_

"Enough!" Edward yelled and in his desperation pulled open the mirror cabinet.

With the reflection his alter ego had disappeared and Edward could finally focus on his own voice again. The voice that told him to give Oswald a second chance by coming back to work from tomorrow on. This would also give him a chance to prove to his alter ego that he had absolutely no romantic interest in his best friend - none at all! He loved Isabella! She was perfect! Oswald on the other hand had a more than bad character. Never could he love someone so childish and hot-headed.

\---

The following day Edward was already standing on the threshold of the Van Dahl mansion at just before eight, rang the bell once, twice and was finally let in by Olga, who gave him a disparaging look.

"Mr. Cobblepot still in bed," she informed him with annoyed, pursed lips, before she disappeared towards the kitchen - according to the hearty smell she was preparing breakfast.

Ed nodded and then went straight to the first floor to set up today's agenda in his office - because knowing the mayor, and he knew him well, Oswald didn't have a clear idea of what was coming up today.

After he had finished the schedule at about a quarter to nine, he knocked on Oswald's bedroom door to rip the mayor out of his bed, and when there was no reaction from inside, he simply stepped in.

"Since when do you knock, Olga?" grumbled Oswald, who had sat up on the mattress and held his skull, which was covered in shaggy hair, in both hands. The room smelled like a bar - Oswald probably had a little too much to drink last night. With him this was usually a sign of stress.

Edward strutted through the room and straight to the window front to open the curtains and aerate the room. "As you may recall, I always knock. That Olga doesn't knock would be just another reason for me to dismiss this woman - but you seem to be attached to her somehow," Edward replied in cold honesty, then pulled a watch out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "If you don't hurry up a little, we're going to miss our appointment at Gotham Elementary, _Mr. Mayor_. You'll be giving a speech on social responsibility in the school gymnasium in front of the press, along with an appeal for funds to build a new orphanage. It's a well-known fact that orphanages melt away the constituents."

"Edward?" Oswald pulled his hands away from his tired face, staring at his chief of staff with disbelieving eyes.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"My job - or have you already given me notice against my knowledge?" He meant it as a joke, but for a millisecond Edward was actually afraid Oswald might say yes.

"Of course not!" Oswald fought his way out of the sheets, then limped clumsily and on bare soles to the foot of his bed and clawed at the wooden frame. He seemed as though he wanted to look at Edward up close to make sure the man was actually standing in his bedroom and going over his daily schedule with him. "I thought you were still mad at me." He attempted a hopeful smile.

"I am," Edward grumbled back, which instantly killed the smile on Oswald's lips and left him instead with his mouth insecurely pressed to a line. He should have expected it - Edward Nygma was not a man of quick forgive and forget.

"I'm still glad you're here, Ed," Oswald said honestly, and grabbed his cane, which had been leaning next to the bed, only to continue towards the dressing room in a slightly less bumpy way than before.

Ed tightened the corners of his mouth with delight. He could not help himself. The fact that Oswald was happy about his return gave him a warm feeling. He was gladly needed. "Nonsense, I am sure you got along fine without me," he replied modestly.

Oswald blew out air in amusement and then grinned broadly in Edward's direction. "Believe me, Ed, I'm completely lost without you."

Edward smiled bashfully. It had been a good idea to come back.

\---

When the limousine arrived at Gotham Elementary, pupils were swarming all over the place, which visibly unnerved the mayor. Oswald was anything but a friend of children and Edward could understand that - although maybe for other reasons. In Edward's eyes children were the vacuously stupid copies of their already dim-witted parents - more instinct than reason - and that made it hard for him to communicate with them. Did Isabella want to have children? Had Kristen had any intention of having children? Could Edward even be a good father?

The thought of retiring from underworld work to change diapers scared him somehow, even though the possibility of having an intellectual successor was tempting.

"Children...", Oswald hissed murderously when the driver opened the limousine door for him and the mayor was almost immediately run over by a bunch of children who squeezed too close to the car on their way to the gymnasium.

"Take a deep breath and focus on our goal!," Edward encouraged his employer after he got out of the limousine himself and then, motivated, plucked the black and gray striped jacket and green patterned tie into place. Under his arm he carried a folder with information about the planned appeal for donations, which was supposed to culminate in a charity gala for orphaned children as soon as the orphanage was completed - for this purpose, Edward had already contacted Wayne Enterprise and received a commitment for the use of their premises and the contribution of a large sum of money. While there was also the option of holding the gala at the Van Dahl mansion or with Barbara at the Sirens, Ed considered the glamorous halls of the large corporation more suitable for such a formal occasion - moreover, he could not imagine that Oswald would be happy to host a bunch of unacquainted millionaires in his own house and take the risk that one of them 'strayed' his eyes into his private papers.

\---

The mayor's speech may have been a little too intellectual for the elementary school kids, but the actual target audience were the present parents, reporters and teachers anyway, who tore the donation slips from Edward's hands as if they were Halloween candy. Meanwhile, Oswald was surrounded by the headmistress and a handful of teachers who wanted more information about the mayor's vision for school and education.

When Ed joined them, Oswald shook the hand of the headmistress with the blonde bun and said a polite goodbye to her and the teachers. The mask of the law-abiding patron suited him without the slightest shift and for Edward, who knew 'the terrible Penguin', this was always a fascinating sight.

"We can already arrange everything for the construction. That was an excellent speech, Mr. Mayor," praised the chief of staff with an appreciative smile.

"Thank you, Ed. Don't you think it was a bit thickly laid on?" Oswald asked a little uncertainly, but the up-shifted corner of his mouth revealed that the positive response had not gone unnoticed.

"Just the right amount of 'thickening' to keep the voters loyal and the press happy."

"Oswald?" Someone approached from the entrance. It was one of the teachers who had just sent his class off with someone else and apparently seemed to know the mayor.

"Huh?" Oswald, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time recalling the teacher's face. He drew his brows deep into his field of vision and turned his chin a little to one side. "Have we met?"

The teacher smiled nervously. "It's been a while - Gotham Senior High." He stuck out his chest. "Shivan Green." Shivan was tall, but not as tall as Edward. But he was more muscular than both men - which wasn't hard, since neither the mayor nor his chief of staff worked out. His hairstyle consisted of short black-brown curls, shaved shorter at the sides and parted to the right, falling casually into his forehead. His eyes were brown, darker than Edwards, with small black spots on the irises.

Ed could watch Oswald tear open his eyelids at the mention of the name and clench his hands into fists. He immediately led his right hand into his trouser pocket, inconspicuously groping for the switchblade he was carrying for safety. But an elementary school teacher would hardly attack the King of Gotham in broad daylight in a gymnasium, would he?

Oswald pulled the corners of his mouth up, presenting a fake smile. "That really was ages ago. I never thought you'd become a teacher. Between you and me, I thought you lacked empathy for such things." An amused belligerence was evident in every word he said.

Shivan hissed caught, peering down at the tips of his brown oxford-shoes. "I was a monster," he muttered, which in turn made Oswald frown in confusion.

"What?"

"I was a monster," Green repeated with a little more force in his voice. "I treated you and many others terribly throughout our school years and I'm ashamed of it." He bit his lower lip, pinched his eyelids together in agony. "I wanted to apologize to you."

Edward, who had the unpleasant feeling of being left out of the conversation, leaned a little bit to Oswald, whispered a curious, "May I ask what it was that Mr. Green did?" that made Oswald wince.

Obviously, Oswald had momentarily forgotten that Edward was standing next to him - a truth that upset the attention-hungry man.

"Oh, by the way, this is Edward Nygma - my chief of staff," Oswald introduced the tall, slender man, who then politely reached out to Shivan. "And this is Shivan Green - we went to school together. Shivan was more of..." He was at odds with the word.

"A thug, a brute, a bully," Green added on his own initiative, while returning Edward's gesture. They shook hands briefly, then stood there for a moment, not loosening their grip, while Ed stabbed the teacher with glances. A bully, then. Now Edward understood why Oswald had reacted so tense earlier.

"Yes." Oswald gave the impression that he was uncomfortable admitting that he had been bullied at school, although Edward had already suspected it because of the stories Oswald had told him about his childhood and his mother. "Shivan had a special talent for making books and schoolbags disappear and not to mention his ingenuity at humiliating nicknames... or the one time - can you recall - when you and your friends waited for me after school to put your cigarettes out on my arm? Such good old days." Oswald had begun to talk himself into a rage. It was unlikely that he would accept the teacher's apology, and given the stories he was telling with a dark and sinister amusement, Edward thought it only fair that Oswald should ram a knife between Shivans eyebrows as late revenge. Shivan Green had been Oswald's Tom Dougherty, his Arnold Flass - except a bit more cruel than the two of them and still alive.

Shivan had visibly slumped down - he actually seemed to regret what had happened. But when he started to speak again, there was still a slight smile on his lips. "You pushed me down the big stairs in tenth grade - a broken leg, two broken ribs, mild concussion."

That made Edward smile with satisfaction. Apparently, Penguin had spread fear and terror from an early age. At a time when Ed had been nothing but a complete and utter loser.

Oswald flinched back, eyes widened in wonder. "You knew it was me!"

"Yep. I was pretty angry at first, but... also kind of scared - I mean, you almost killed me."

"That's why you stayed away from me afterwards."

"I didn't want to bite the dust so young," Shivan laughed, before he suddenly fell into a melancholic brooding. "In retrospect, I probably deserved it."

"I'm glad we agree," Oswald replied, now with a smug smile. "Would you please excuse us now - I have duties, _mayoral duties_ , you understand?"

Apparently he did _not_ understand, because Shivan didn't move and instead gave his former schoolmate a warm smile. "You've really done well for yourself, Oswald - I envy you. And again, I am truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me someday."

The compliment made Oswald proudly raise his nose. "That was ages ago - and I do good at forgiving," he replied, underscoring his offer of peace with an outstretched hand that Shivan grabbed without hesitation.

"Thank you and who knows, maybe one day we can sit down together and you'll hit me with all the bad things you wished for me in the past - and maybe still wish today".

"If I am allowed to hold a shotgun while doing so, it might tempt me."

"Absolutely," Shivan said, but the corner of his mouth betrayed the fact that the thought of an armed Penguin scared him.

When Oswald was about to say goodbye again, this time in a much milder mood, Shivan hectically rummaged through his trouser pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. "Wait! I'm serious about this meeting."

The mayor and his chief of staff raised their eyebrows almost simultaneously.

"Only if you want to, of course," Shivan soothed. Oswald's gaze seemed merely a little confused, but Edward's brown eyes were piercing. "How about I give you my number and you decide whether you want to call me?"

\---

"I nag without being your wife, I have no part in a believers life. What am I?", Edward asked with a slightly aggressive undertone as they sat in the limousine on their way to City Hall.

Oswald sighed silently. "If something bothers you, get straight..."

"Doubt! I am doubt! Something you should have had after Mr. Green asked you to meet him. But what did you do instead?! You let him give you his number!" Ed snorted and took the glasses off his nose, gripping the bridge for a moment. "Do you really want to meet him?"

"If I have a future use for him, why not?" Oswald replied with a shrug, obviously not understanding what his friend was so upset about. 

This answer soothed Edward. Oswald had not acted as naive and imprudent as he had suspected a few seconds ago.

"Have you really forgiven him?" Ed asked after a brief moment of silence.

Oswald evaded an answer by replying, "I should really be thanking people like him - it is only through their cruelty that I have become who I am today. It's almost as if they had put the crown on my head themselves." He smiled smugly, which caused Edward to do the same.

"We emerge from our old wars stronger," he said with his back straightened. This also applied to himself. Tom Dougherty, Kristen Kringle, Pinkney - in the end, they all died so that Edward Nygma could be reborn.

\---

The next days went quietly - as quietly as it could be for a criminal of the Gotham underworld - and Edward already believed that everything was back to normal. He was no longer angry with Oswald. In fact, his friend seemed to have taken his words to heart. Whenever Edward mentioned his girlfriend, spoke to her on the phone or brought her home, Oswald behaved politely and kept his distance, leaving them their privacy.

His alter ego had also stopped showing up to claim that he loved his best friend. Edward was sure that the last few days had been enough to prove to Not-Ed that his feelings for Oswald were purely amicable.

But on the evening that the mayor attended the Founders' Dinner and Edward - due to the fact that Oswald was invited alone - spent the evening on a date with Isabella, it should become clear that the certainty of the last few days had been nothing but self-delusion.

He was at Isabella's home, sitting next to the sleeping woman on the sofa when the news came on TV: **"Jervis Tetch attacks Gotham's elite at the Founders' Dinner and ends up being caught and arrested by the GCPD"**.

Without waiting for further details, Edward had stormed out of the house and thrown himself into his car to drive to the Van Dahl mansion. His heart had groaned in fear for his friend, his pulse had rung up to his temples.

" _What will you do if you've lost him,"_ asked his alter ego, who was sitting comfortably in the passenger seat with his legs crossed.

"I haven't lost him," Edward insisted and pressed the accelerator harder. From a purely logical point of view, there was little likelihood of the mayor having been injured or even killed without this being mentioned in the same sentence as the arrest of the Mad Hatter, but Ed was not acting logically at the moment and his alter ego was too happy to take advantage of this fact to torture him.

_"Would you blame yourself?"_

Edward gritted his teeth.

 _"After all, you weren't with him. You left his side and as a result he was hurt. And where were you instead? With the woman you don't really love."_ He talked like he was lecturing a child.

"I love Isabella," growled Ed and did not notice the uncertain swing in his voice himself. Unlike his alter ego, who then grinned maliciously.

_"What has two eyes and yet cannot see what is right in front of him?"_

Edward pushed himself into the car seat as he made a sharp turn to enter the driveway of the Van Dahl mansion. Not worried about the engine still running, he stormed out of the car and into the estate.

"Oswald?," he shouted while still in the entrance, then stormed through the magnificent interior and released a relieved pant when he found Oswald in the dining room with a glass of whiskey in his hand. "You're all right." It sounded more like a question than a statement, and when Oswald rose with a surprised "Ed," Edward naturally bridged the distance between them, and locked the smaller one in a firm embrace, sighing relieved against his slim shoulders. "I was worried."

Oswald smiled happily and closed his arms around Ed's back. "It takes more than a second-rate lunatic to kill me."

They lingered in the embrace for a moment. Edward pressed Oswald close to his chest, enjoyed his warmth, listened to his calming respiration, emitted a relishing gasp. But then he froze, the dagger of knowledge deep in his bowels, and pushed the other man away from him with an almost startled gesture, forcing himself to smile quaky as Oswald looked at him from below.

"You must be exhausted," Ed said, and with a strange nervousness turned his gaze away from his best friend. An unpleasant loneliness lay hidden in Oswald's eyes, a longing, and Edward had the crazy urge to simply pull Oswald back against his body - but with this action he would inevitably lose his fight against himself and he couldn't let that happen. He. did. not. love. him. No way!

"I am in fact a little exhausted," Oswald confessed and lowered his head like a puppet whose strings were cut.

Edward intertwined his fingers, staring down at his hands as he spoke. "Would you prefer if I slept here tonight?"

Oswald tightened the corners of his mouth, which, combined with his cloudy eyes, seemed rather gloomy. "Will Isabella not be sad?"

"She was asleep when I left - she won't notice until tomorrow anyway."

Oswald brooded for a moment before he shook his head faintly. "No, you should go to your girlfriend's - I'll be fine."

"You're sure?" The corners of Ed's lips dropped. Part of him hoped, longed for Oswald to change his mind - a part he wished he could keep locked away.

"Yeah, I’m sure." This time Oswald seemed more determined.

"Good." Edward hinted at a bow, in which he merely lowered his head and shoulders. "Good night, Oswald."

"Night, Ed."

\---

Edward slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning in Isabella's vanilla-scented sheets as he heard Oswald's voice over and over again wishing him a faint good night. He saw the man's face in front of him, the greenish blue wet eyes, the jet-black hair, which protruded into his forehead from both sides in even strands and was wildly styled at the back of his head without ever looking messy. He saw the thin lips with the distinct cupid bow, the deep dimples, the pointed, slightly lowered nose with the high wings. Then he saw his eyes again, then his mouth, which told him that he loved him. He heard himself laughing and wanted to strangle himself for doing so.

When dreaming, it was easy to lean forward, it was easy to kiss Oswald, to pull him close and surrender to the love of the underworld boss - after all, you could say in retrospect that this is exactly what it had been: just a dream. The reality was different - complicated. And if Edward ever gave in to his feelings, it would only become much more complicated. Love was not a strength! It could always be used against you! Oswald was not allowed to become Edward's weakness, otherwise Ed could not evolve further, never become stronger! He could never become a horror in Gotham himself, an artist in the city's deep black firmament, when he was captivated by romantic feelings. 

This chaos played in his head all night long, revealing at a second glance that he himself admitted that Isabella was nothing more than a consolation prize - a consolation prize in relation to Kristen and an evasion in relation to Oswald.

When he lifted his eyelids in the early hours of the next day, he had the strange sensation that he would wake up next to Oswald, and so he gasped as he turned his head and saw Isabella beside him lovingly stroking his hand.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he returned with pinched lips and panted for air again as Isabella rolled herself onto him with a purr, her fingers running across his shirt-covered chest.

"Did you sleep well?", she asked him smiling, then slipped a little forward on his stomach to give her boyfriend a gentle kiss on the lips.

"Sure," Edward lied with a quivering expression.

When she kissed him again, spreading her lips and pressing herself against his body, Edward resigned. The dream was over - this was reality. Isabella was his girlfriend and nothing would change that! 

He grabbed her shoulders and turned with her on the bed until he lay on top of her slender figure, pressed his lips to her neck, kissed her collarbone, traced it with the tip of his tongue.

Isabella sighed excitedly and pressed her head further into the pillow to give Edward more access while she clawed her hands in his hair. The strands, tangled by sleep, slipped tickling through her fingers.

"Edward..." she purred humbly. "I've missed you these past few days."

In fact, Ed and Isabella had not had sex since Edward's argument with Oswald. Edward had blamed it on the stress and workload he was facing now with the opening of the orphanage and the planning of the benefit gala. He had always come home late - usually well after midnight - and Isabella had already been in bed. And since he had to get up early in the morning again, there was no opportunity for intimacy. The few days Oswald had been out alone, or had unexpectedly given Edward the evening off, he and Isabella had never got further than cuddling on the couch.

Ed straightened up on his knees to pull his shirt over his head and let himself fall back to get rid of his black trunks as well. Isabella followed his lead immediately, refusing to wait after all this sexless time, longing for the warm, naked skin of her boyfriend, who now leaned over her again and carefully pressed his erection against her groin without entering.

They gasped and then leaned into a deep kiss, interweaving their tongues, tasting each other.

Isabella was the one who interrupted the kiss to straighten up a bit and open the bedside drawer. With burning desire she pressed a condom into Edward's hand, which he immediately opened and rolled slowly from the tip over his cock. Isabella had meanwhile leaned back into the pillows again, guided two fingers moistened with saliva between her spread legs to force the willingness of her own body. She could wait no longer. 

As Edward slowly entered her, both lovers spread their lips, moaning softly into the morning silence. Ed moved his hands over her upper body, stroking her chest, running his finger in circles over her nipples, while Isabella moved her nails demandingly over his back and made the man hiss in painful ecstasy.

But at some point - Ed could not tell exactly when it had started - he buried his face in Isabella's neck bend, closed his eyes while maintaining a slow tempo and drifted out of her arms as if in a micro-sleep, only to be caressed by pale fingers instead, kissed by thin lips, only to feel himself thrusting into the warm, tight body of his best friend.

He gasped in surprise, noticing how the image before his inner eye was becoming clearer, how this thought alone intensified the trembling in his body. His breathing became arrhythmic, just like his thrusting movements. Caught in the frenzy of his deceitful thoughts, he pressed himself close to the body in his arms, pushed himself towards the warmth between the thin legs, snorted in a state of agitated exhaustion into the crook of the neck in front of his eyes, and wished desperately to see black wisps tickling his cheek instead of the blonde ones.

Isabella seemed to be nearing her climax. She clawed her fingers into Edward's shoulders, threw her head into the pillow, panting, and wrapped her thighs around the firm ass of her lover - unaware that the man in her arms was sleeping with Oswald instead of her, at least in his mind.

"Edward!", moaned the woman, locked her boyfriend in a tight embrace while her body tensed in ecstasy.

The arousing tingling, the pressure, everything came together, pushed Ed into a violent orgasm, made him groan to the mind-image of his best friend, and with an exhausted puff, he sank into the pillows. "Oswald..."

Edward stayed in his perfect vision for a moment longer, tightened the corners of his mouth contentedly, while Isabella gasped in shock.

"Excuse me?!" she hissed in bewilderment.

It was only now that Ed realized what he had done. Panic-stricken, he emerged from the crook of his girlfriend's neck and looked into her angry face with grayish cheeks. "I...I..." he started stammering and yet had no excuse. There was no excuse. He had fantasized about sex with Oswald while sleeping with his girlfriend.

"Did you just say 'Oswald'?!" Isabella continued, pulling her face together in disgust. Being addressed by the name of the scrawny, beak-nosed mayor felt degrading and humiliating.

"I... that wasn't... I didn't mean... I..." he sputtered.

"You..." Isabella's lips trembled with rage and although she didn't really want to freak out, the words gushed out of her mouth unstoppable. "You pervy creep!" she spat furiously and instinctively wanted to get out of bed. But she didn't get far as Edward grabbed her by her wrist and pushed her back into the pillows.

"Don't say that!" he demanded in a panic.

Isabella struggled. "Let go of me!"

"No!" In an attempt to prevent Isabella from leaving, he grabbed her throat, pressed her deeper onto the mattress. "You have to listen to me," he demanded with flashing eyes.

"E...E-d...," croaked Isabella, who was suffocating under Edward's grip. She clawed her fingers into his arms, but he only noticed his action when it was too late.

As Isabella's eyes drifted into the afterlife, Ed drove up in horror, releasing his grip around her swan neck. "Isabella?" He shook her body, once, twice, but she didn't move, didn't lift her gaze.

"Oh, no... no..." Trembling with panic, he bent over the woman, listening for a breath that had long been gone. "Oh dear... oh dear..." He whimpered, covering his temples with his hands as if to prevent reality from entering his head. Tears of desperation were streaming from the corners of his eyes.

On instinct, he rushed out of bed and grabbed the mobile phone that had been lying on the bedside table to dial Oswald's number.

Tbc


	3. Like Good Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Edward calls, Oswald already has a bad premonition. Now the two of them have to make a body disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit fluff in this chapter but I think with Oswald and Edward it's always a bit "fluffy".

Chapter 3

**Like Good Old Times**

After hearing his friend's faint voice over the mobile phone, Oswald had immediately fought his way out of bed, flattened his fuzzy hair with his hands and set off without breakfast and in a boring combination of white shirt, black waistcoat and black suit trousers. Edward hadn't told him why he had to come to Isabella's house, but judging by his whimpering tone, only something terrible could have happened.

The limousine stopped in front of the house in the quiet, middle-class neighborhood and at that moment Oswald could already see his best friend Edward sitting on the threshold - with nothing but a bedspread that he had provisionally tied around his slender hip. Oswald downright threw himself out of the car, stopped insecurely in front of his friend, whose figure had slumped down and who was holding his temples with both hands, his gaze consistently directed at the pavement.

"Ed?", Oswald tried to get the other's attention, hesitantly reaching out to him with one hand, touching the trembling shoulder with his fingertips and only now did he really notice that Edward was sobbing. "What happened, Ed?"

The taller one raised his eyes, which startled Oswald and made him gasp. Edward looked completely distraught - eyes red and puffy, cheeks gray. Panic danced in his watery irides. "Isabella... she...," Edward stuttered in a weakening voice, pointing to the entrance in his back. The door stood open, inviting Oswald into a disturbing silence.

He already had a foreboding. But instead of asking his best friend, and presumably torturing him even further, Oswald climbed over the threshold into the house with tacit determination, and looked into each room one by one, until he finally found the librarian lifeless in the bedroom. She was naked, which made Oswald grimace for a moment, and the red bruises on her neck revealed even to a forensic layman that she had been strangled - Edward had strangled her, just as he had once strangled Kristen Kringle. Oswald actually loved to be right, but the thought of Edward's current emotional state made him lose all desire to gloat. 

He stepped closer to the woman's body. Next to the bed on the light parquet floor lay a used condom, which made Oswald hiss in disgust. Edward's shock must have been excruciating if he hadn't removed it before his friend's arrival.

The condom in combination with Isabella's and Edward's nakedness inevitably indicated that the two had had sex before Isabella's death. Oswald could not prevent this thought from injecting a toxic fury into his body. At the same time, he wanted to mock himself for this absurd feeling. Here he stood, envying a dead woman for the intimacy she had shared with Edward in life - that was beyond ridiculous.

When he heard barefoot steps behind him, he turned around. In the doorway stood Ed, still covered only with the blanket, which gave a clear view of his naked chest and flat stomach. His eyes were still red and tear-stained, but otherwise his appearance was already much calmer than a few minutes ago; he was no longer trembling and his gaze was clearer.

Oswald suppressed the question of how he was and also the question of what had happened. Instead, he lowered his gaze briefly down to Edward's covered center and tightened the corners of his mouth in a soothing manner. "You should put some clothes on. If you like, I can take care of..." With the tip of his nose he pointed towards the bed.

Edward shook his head slightly. "We'll do it together."

While Oswald had shyly averted his gaze, Edward slipped into fresh shorts and dark gray pants, put on a green sweater and led a comb through his hair, parted it neatly to one side.

"Now you look more like your own self again," Oswald said with a soft smile, then asked while looking at the body, "Where do you want to take her?"

Without any emotion, Edward lifted the condom off the floor and threw it into the next bin. "I already thought of a place."

It made Oswald feel a little uneasy how cold Ed suddenly seemed. It was as if he had left all the negative feelings, all the sadness and panic on the doorstep, had entered the bedroom untroubled by any disturbing emotions.

Edward briefly left the room and Oswald could hear a metal clang before Edward reappeared in the door frame, a simple kitchen cleaver in his hand - a picture like something from an 80s splatter movie.

"This will leave stains," Ed grinned, turning the cleaver with an ecstatic sparkle in his eyes, flashing the metal in the warm light of the ceiling lamp. 

Oswald couldn't help but give off a euphoric snort, even though at the next moment he wondered how Ed intended to cut through the bones of his beloved with this little blade.

\---

The mayor had told his driver that he could bring the limousine back to the villa - he and Edward would take the chief of staff's car. However, they did not immediately return to the Van Dahl mansion, instead they drove to the secluded wooded area where Edward had once dug Kristen Kringle's grave - a fitting end for the blonde copy, which at that point lay in pieces in the trunk of the car.

The old-fashioned kitchen cleaver had indeed not been the only thing Edward had brought to dismember the body - in fact, Oswald suspected that it was intended to serve merely as a showpiece. In addition, Edward had fetched from his car a somewhat miniature circular saw, which came in a small suitcase that had taken its place under the passenger seat again after the job was completed. The passenger seat on which Oswald was now sitting and looked out of the window with an indeterminate feeling. Perhaps he should also carry a circular saw in the car? It surely was practical to make unpleasant corpses more transportable. 

"Thank you," Edward said midway and without turning his eyes away from the morning rush hour, breaking the conspiratorial silence with his husky voice.

Oswald batted his eyelids in confusion. "For what?"

"For coming immediately - and helping me with Isabella."

"What else are friends for, if not to dismember a body together?" Oswald asked with an amused giggle and was rewarded with a broad grin from his friend.

They parked at the edge of the forest; it was still a short walk to the place where Penguin and Edward's paths had once fatefully crossed. Oswald took his cane and a shovel, moved cautiously over the undergrowth and Edward lifted the suitcase with two hands, in which Isabella would find her final resting place.

"Here we are once again," smiled Oswald as they stood in front of the trailer. He had not been taken away from this place, a silent witness to the beginning of their friendship - just far more run-down, moldy, with ivy vines on the windows and mushroom lichen on the outer facade.

Edward grinned broadly. "I remember you punching the trailer door in my face that day." He gave the smaller one a playfully accusing look over the edge of his glasses.

Oswald, too, tensed the corners of his mouth in amusement. There was a sparkling enthusiasm in his blue-green eyes. "Forgive my rudeness at the time - I must have been busy bleeding to death."

They laughed, then walked around the trailer once to look for a spot free of thick roots.

While Edward dug the grave, Oswald could not help but worry about his friend. Edward didn't seem to be a man of long mourning, for apart from the brief moment at Isabella's front door, he had not shed a single tear for the dead. Quite the opposite: with an almost manic grin on his lips, he had sawed her body in pieces and packed it neatly into a suitcase like others did with their hygiene products, then later on he had even joked with Oswald about this activity and had not indulged in reminiscences of the time he spent together with his girlfriend, but of his forest encounter with the shot Oswald. Was that perhaps simply his way of coping with grief - repression?

"Although we are only among ourselves, perhaps you would like to say a few words?" Oswald asked his friend after Ed had carefully pushed the suitcase into the hole. It had rained last night so Edward had to be careful not to slip on the muddy ground.

"Yes." Ed took his glasses off his nose, folded their temples and held them reverently between his fingers as he lowered his blurred gaze into the hole. "Isabella, you were a fantastic woman - you liked books, riddles, were smart and romantic and loved me despite my faults. I'm deeply sorry for what happened. Goodbye." After saying goodbye, he had closed his eyes, seemed to add a few more words in his mind. 

Oswald tensed the corners of his mouth in discomfort. She had loved him _despite_ his faults? Oswald loved Ed _with_ all his peculiarities - he could not possibly speak of faults!

"Bye," said Oswald without any frills, and then helped Edward to fill the grave with earth again, before he spun briskly on his heel and directed his friend back to the car with an inviting "Let's head home, Ed."

And that had been it - a boring end for the boring librarian. Inwardly, Oswald grinned at this happy coincidence. It had been worthwhile to follow Olga's advice and push his feelings for Edward into the back of his mind. The only remaining question was how Oswald should proceed now. When he had last confessed his love to his friend, the latter had not believed him and instead thought that Oswald was just jealous of the attention Edward had given Isabella. But now that Isabella was dead, he had to believe him, didn't he?

But was Oswald even emotionally capable of confessing his love to Edward a second time and thus risking being rejected a second time? How long could he stall confessing again before the next Isabella jumped out of the bushes?

\---

Unlike Oswald, Olga seemed far from pleased to find Edward back at the Van Dahl mansion. She gave him a suspicious look when he and Oswald walked through the door.

"Breakfast is cold," grumbled the maid without turning her stern eyes away from Edward, whom she immediately identified as the reason for the missed breakfast.

"I'm sorry, Olga - Ed and I had some unplanned obligations we couldn't ignore," Oswald explained cheerfully. He toyed with the idea of marking this day on the calendar, but Isabella did not deserve to be remembered by the crime lord.

"I don't have any appetite anyway - I'm going to start preparing today's schedule," Edward said, staring down at himself as if he wanted to add: 'changing my outfit would also be a good idea'.

"Y-you want to work?", Oswald asked perplexed and gave a surprised snort. Edward Nygma remained a mystery to him.

Ed twitched his brows and turned his chin sideways. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Oswald laughed throatily as he limped a few steps closer to the taller man, to put a hand on his shoulder, gently pressing the bone with his fingers. "You have just buried your girlfriend, Ed," he reminded him in a manner in which parents would talk to their children. "I certainly won't let you do any work today."

Edward opened his lips, seeming eager to protest at first, but finally remained in this bewildered expression, staring absentmindedly over Oswald's head. It seemed as if he was only now beginning to understand how unnatural his calm behavior had been.

Oswald narrowed his brows searchingly. "How about resting a little instead? You look like you didn't get any sleep last night," he suggested with a smile. Indeed, Edward's eyes were surrounded by black shadows and his cheeks were unhealthily pale.

Edward still seemed a little indisposed, squinting indecisively up the stairs before Oswald patted him twice on the back and shooed him to the first floor with a warm "I'll bring you something to eat right away."

"Olga, will you please make Ed something to eat," he demanded in the direction of the open kitchen door, while pouring himself a glass of red wine, taking an apple from a small woven fruit basket, and then started to cancel any engagements scheduled for noon today. He had kept this afternoon free of work anyway, as he had a dinner reservation at 7pm.

Meanwhile, his Russian maid had just been throwing away the now cold breakfast and washing the dishes when she heard the order from her boss. She snorted. For a short time Olga had really believed that Mr. Cobblepot had taken her advice and would now look for a better match, but apparently he was more infatuated with this Edward Nygma than was good for him.

The maid was a little worried about what Oswald had mentioned earlier - about Nygma burying his girlfriend this morning. After the conversation she had had with him to the music of Amy Winehouse, she hoped the mayor hadn't had his fingers in the pie.

And while she tried not to think about what Edward Nygma would do if Mr. Cobblepot was indeed to blame for his girlfriend's death, she prepared a serving tray with a pot of tea, a cup, a hard-boiled egg, two croissants and a small bowl of strawberry jam, which Oswald immediately took out of her hands to bring it to his beloved man.

"Ed?", Oswald asked politely, leaning the tray against the closed door. "I'm coming in now." Turning around, he pushed the door handle down with his elbow, opening the way into the room darkened by curtains. "I brought your breakfast."

He balanced the tray to a solid wooden desk and switched on the mint green lamp, which, together with a few well-ordered books and documents, adorned the dark surface.

"Thank you," it unexpectedly came not from the bed, but from a baroque wing chair with a beige pattern, where Edward sat on the edge, his forehead resting in his right hand. Unlike a few minutes ago in the entrance hall, he now gave a broken impression, seemed to have finally realized what had happened this morning. "You don't have to take care of me, Oswald - after all, I'm not sick. I'm sure you have a lot to do," he said, trying not to be a burden to his employer.

"That's what friends are for, and actually..." Oswald approached the chair, with a half nervous half euphoric smile on his lips, "I have no more engagements today anyway."

Edward frowned and gave him a confused yet stern look over the frame of his glasses. "You've canceled all your engagements?" A wisp had sprung from his parted hair, rested lonely on his high forehead.

"Nothing was of great importance," Oswald assured with his palm stretched out.

With an exhausted sigh, Edward got up from the upholstery and sat down at his desk instead to have his late breakfast.

Meanwhile, Oswald let himself sink into the armchair, the cane placed between his legs with his chin propped up. "Would you like to talk about it? With my mother, it helped me to talk to you about it."

Edward paused in his meal and for a moment Oswald felt he had upset his friend with his question. But as Ed turned his face in Oswald's direction, an apologetic smile lay on his lips. "Thank you, but I politely decline."

Oswald couldn't help but feel hurt to hear those words. Didn't Edward trust him? Why did he shut himself away now when Oswald had told him everything about his late mother? Was it still because of the argument they had had a few days ago? Had their relationship been irreparably damaged by Oswald's confession?

With a sad hiss, he rose from the armchair, leaning his weight on the bird-headed cane in his hand. There was one more thing he could try to do to cheer his best friend up a little. Without further ado, he headed for the digital piano that stood by the wall to the left of the armchair. It was the same piano Edward had played to him back then and one of the few pieces of furniture Ed had been allowed to bring from his former apartment to the Van Dahl mansion.

He sat down on the piano stool and put his fingers loosely on the keys while he pondered what to play. The same thing Edward had played for him? No, that wouldn't be appropriate. And he didn't quite know if he had the notes completely remembered.

Actually, there was only one song where he was one hundred percent sure that he wouldn't make any mistakes while playing and yet his fingers trembled slightly as they carefully stroked the keys. While his right hand still rested motionless on the piano, his left hand already struck the half and quarter notes in alternation, which formed the basic melody to the song 'Heart and Soul' in four-four time.

He recalled exactly how he had played the piece after taking over Fish Mooney's bar, surrounded by blue spotlights, on a simple Yamaha piano. He smiled softly at the thought of how far he had come since then.

Sunken in his own memory, he only noticed Edward when he sat down beside him. Oswald slid a little to the side, turning his left leg outwards to give the taller man more room on the small stool. And when Ed merely placed his right hand on the keys of the fifth octave, Oswald immediately understood the mute prompt and slipped his hands one octave lower in order to turn the two-handed play into four-handed play. Oswald mainly played the steady basic rhythm and Ed the cheerful melody, here and there they became more courageous and built in changing transitions, making sure that the other one followed - which was a bit more difficult for Oswald than for Edward. And at some point Ed even started to sing along.

"Heart and soul, I fell in love with you. Heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly..."

Oswald smiled nervously. If he thought about it properly, this song might not have been a good idea after all, because the lyrics fitted his own feelings much too well. Hearing Edward singing, of mad love, hugs, kisses, made his heart flutter, his body shivered and his cheeks became hot.

He couldn't focus anymore, threw his gaze furtively to the right again and again, and so it happened that he made a mistake several times in a row and couldn't really get into the rhythm anymore.

"I'm sorry", he spoke shyly after Edward, irritated by his bad playing, had stopped singing. "Apparently I'm a bit out of practice."

Instead of an answer, Ed smiled briefly, didn't seem to be really angry with him.

Oswald gave one throaty laugh and put his head back. "I guess I'm not really good at taking care of people. My goal was to cheer you up just like you did back then."

"Goal accomplished," Ed replied and as Oswald glanced over at him in embarrassing uncertainty, his friend smiled warmly.

\---

After the short piano play Oswald had left the room to give Edward a chance to sleep. He himself had taken a bath and picked out his clothes for tonight's dinner, before settling on the sofa in the lounge with his second glass wine of the day and zapping through the TV program for a few hours - as usual, the news was full of crime; this time the focus was on a murderer who was apparently capable of severing a human skull with sheer force alone. Oswald shivered with both fear and fascination. He definitely didn't want this guy as an opponent, but as long as he was tamable, he would certainly make a good henchman.

He giggled throatily at the thought of such a monster under his control and took a noble sip from his wine glass.

When Olga came into the lounge armed with a vacuum cleaner, Oswald hissed annoyed and tried to get her attention by snapping his fingers several times. "Olga! Can't you see that I'm watching something here?!" he yelped and pointed to the telly, where now a cartoon was shown instead of the news.

Olga stopped beside the sofa, the whirring vacuum cleaner still in her hands. She indignantly put one hand on her hip, shifting the weight to her right side.

"Turn off the vacuum," Oswald tried again, his voice dropping in annoyance, and pointed several times at his ears to indicate to the maid that he couldn't understand a word.

With a lunge, Olga pressed the off button, while keeping her scolding gaze fixed on her boss.

Oswald sighed in relief as the whirring died, then leaned back against the sofa to continue watching. But since the maid did not move and consistently gave him a stern look, he turned back to her after a short time, dismissing a shrill hiss. "What is it now?"

"Is Tall Man back for meals again?"

"Yes. Ed lives here again," he explained, audibly annoyed.

Olga drew her lips into a thin line "Do you not go out for dinner this evening?"

Oswald narrowed his eyebrows, closed his lids and briefly shook his head in annoyance. "Yes, I do. What's that got to do with him?"

The maid raised her painted eyebrows and pursed her dark red lips. "Isn't decent to go on date if you're still attached to Tall Man, Mr. Cobblepot."

"It's not a date!" Oswald insisted firmly and, in agitation, spilled some of his wine, which now collected as a dark red stain on his dress shirt. Hissing, he stared down at himself. Now he had to change again!

Upon his piqued outburst Olga had only briefly rolled her eyes and left the lounge with the vacuum in her hand to go and clean the dining room instead. Of course she hoped that this dinner was a real date and that Mr. Cobblepot was only denying it out of shame. 

"Lately she's been acting way out of line...", Oswald murmured softly to himself as he got up from the sofa and walked towards the first floor, while trying miserably to dry the wine stain on his shirt with his pocket square. What was Olga's problem with Edward anyway? Since the man had started working for the mayor as chief of staff, the maid had been hostile towards him and Edward had always shown a certain hostility towards Olga as well. Actually Oswald had never minded it, he had ignored it skillfully, but if the maid now started to make cheeky comments about his relationship with Edward, he would soon have to have a word with her.

Oswald now wanted to quickly put on new clothes and then secretly leave the mansion, taking advantage of the fact that Edward was obviously asleep. He didn't want to let Edward in on his dinner plans. After all, Ed was in the middle of grieving and should not have to deal with Oswald's friendship meetings during this time. Maybe it would even depress him in this hard time if he knew that Oswald had other friendships - although Oswald had only started socializing to better repress his feelings for Edward.

Or perhaps Oswald knew that this social gathering could be misunderstood - just as Olga had misunderstood it - and since he still had hopes that Edward would love him back someday, he didn't want him to think that he was dating other men.

\---

When Oswald stepped out of his room newly dressed, he wore a black pinstriped tailcoat with matching cloth trousers, an unstained white shirt, a waistcoat that also matched the tailcoat with two button borders, black Budapest shoes made of calfskin, a dark blue brocade tie that had a slight violet tinge in the right light, a pocket square in the same color and pattern, and rectangular cuff-links made of fourteen-carat onyx.

As he was still in the hallway tightening his tie and attaching it to his shirt with a black pin, the door to Edward's bedroom opened and Ed came out into the hallway with fuzzy hair and bare feet. When he found Oswald in full gear, he frowned in surprise.

"Are you going out?" he asked, suppressing a yawn. He had slept so much that he was now even more tired than before. Fortunately for him, his sleep had remained completely dreamless this time - no Oswald confessing to him, no kiss, just satisfying darkness.

Oswald had paused in his movement, and gave Edward a strangely caught impression. When he spoke, his voice was high and uneven and his lips were curled into a wobbly smile. "Yes, I am invited out to dinner - work-related." He batted his eyelashes in a semblance of listlessness.

"Work?" Edward raised his brows. "I thought you canceled all your engagements for today."

Now Oswald seemed even more nervous. His eyes dropped to the ground for a split second, unable to withstand Ed's searching gaze. "Yes, all except the dinner." He pulled his armpits up helplessly. "The table was already booked and I hate to miss a restaurant reservation."

Though Edward was certain that Oswald was lying to him, he chose to believe him. "Is it a meeting as mayor or as King of the Underworld?" he asked instead, noting with a bitter twinge in his chest that he was putting Oswald in a much greater need of explanation.

The smaller man thoughtfully pulled up his nostrils, squinted down at Edward's bare toes and finally into his face with a mild smile. "A little of both, if I'm honest."

 _Honest_. Edward crunched unrecognizably. Why did Oswald lie so obviously to his face? What was he hiding? Who was he meeting with? And what for?

When Edward didn't reply, Oswald nervously twitched the corners of his mouth twice before pushing himself forward in the corridor, patting his friend lightly on the shoulder as he passed by. "I have to go now. If you are not awake when I come back, I wish you pleasant dreams."

Ed just nodded silently and followed his best friend with a knowing glance. If Oswald believed that he would just go back to sleep now, then he didn't know him very well - after all, there was a riddle for Edward to solve, the riddle of Oswald's lie.

Ed hurried into his bedroom, got dressed and in addition put on a gray newsboy cap as well as a dark brown coat and small round sunglasses with corrective lenses, which he had bought at some point and never worn before. Wrapped in all this conspicuous inconspicuousness, he carefully tiptoed down the stairs to the ground floor and left the mansion just in time to see Oswald's limousine leaving the driveway.

In a crouched position, he sneaked up to his own car, got in through the passenger door that was facing away from the road, thus avoiding the possibility that his best friend might notice him through the window of the limousine. Although it was already dark on the streets of Gotham, Edward folded down the sunshade and started the engine to follow the limousine with enough distance into the city center. And while he did not let the black car out of his eyes, having pushed his sunglasses down on the bridge of his nose for better night vision and wearing his actual glasses on their frame, Hall & Oates' 'Private Eyes' was playing on the car radio.

 _"I have freedom from hate, but not from lies. I'm usually seen through clouded eyes. I come unexpected, though you wait for me all your life. I can't be brought yet some people try. What am I?"_ Edward's alter ego asked from the passenger seat, his elbow casually pressed against the window.

"True love...," he crunched and ignored the following giggle of his uninvited passenger.

The limousine stopped in front of a chic French restaurant called La Bohéme. Edward parked one street away for safety, took off his proper glasses and instead put the sunglasses back on the root of his nose. With his hands deep in his coat pockets, he stomped back to the restaurant, peeking from the street corner to the entrance to make sure Oswald was already inside before heading to the restaurant himself.

Four large windows formed the front of the building, with columnar wood paneling between them to create a warm exterior ambiance. At the top of each panel was a double-headed lamp - one beam was directed towards the sky, one towards the earth.

And since it was too risky to go into the restaurant - not to mention that he was not wearing the right clothes for that purpose - he sneaked up to one of the windows and peered inside.

The dining room with the orange lighting, the shiny polished tabletops of dark granite, in the middle of which was placed a transparent vase with a single red amaryllis flower, was overrun by guests. Edward could even see that a handful of couples had formed a queue in front of the host, who obviously had no more free seats available. But since Oswald was not among them, he must have already been given a seat (which restaurant would not free a table for _the mayor_?).

Edward made a big lunge and peeped through the next window. In his back he could hear a few arriving guests whispering about him - him, the creepy man with the sunglasses and the dark coat, who was staring through the windows like a stalker. But that didn't bother him at all, because at the very same moment his eyes had caught Oswald. He stood next to one of the tables, seemed to be waiting for someone who just hung up his blue trench coat at the cloakroom and was standing with his back to Edward at that moment.

When he turned around, Ed caught the air sharply, feeling his chest tightening at the same time. He recognized the man, the man who just came towards Oswald with a broad grin and pulled him into a firm embrace as a greeting. It was Shivan Green - the toady who had practically begged the mayor for a date and Oswald had apparently complied with this request. But why? And why did Oswald lie to Edward?! A dinner with a teacher could hardly be called a business meeting! No, this was private! And judging by the way they hugged each other and the way they looked at each other and smiled, this was not their first date.

Edward gulped, but did not manage to choke down the slimy lump of deceit. He stumbled back several steps, almost falling onto the lawn, but turned at the last moment to hurriedly disappear towards his car.

If Oswald really loved Ed, why did he meet with Shivan Green?! The answer was simple and painful: Oswald did not love him - had never loved him. It had been a farce - just as Edward had suspected from the beginning. And now Isabella was dead and Oswald was happy in Shivan's arms.

What on earth did Ed have left now?

_"You can see nothing else when you look in my face. I will look you in the eye and I will never lie. What am I?"_

"My reflection."

They both smiled, a grin as if cut from ear to ear.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all listened to "Private Eyes" while reading this "exciting detective story". Edward Nygma, PI, is on the road, baby! ;)  
> Next chapter will be a bit longer and Barbara Kean will have an important role in it!


	4. The oldest motive in the book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ed is looking for a way to solve his Shivan problem, it is Jim Gordon of all people who gives him an opportunity and Barbara whom he has to ask for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tried to slowly weave my story with the actual plot of season 3 and for this purpose, rewrote a few scenes. I hope it won't be too chaotic.

Chapter 4

**The oldest motive in the book**

The next three weeks had been dominated mainly by one name for the mayor of Gotham: Jerome Valeska. He and his army of madmen had terrorized the city for an entire night, plunged it into total darkness, and on its bowed head celebrated a carnival of blood. Many citizens had been killed in the course of these events, others had joined Jerome's union out of fear or sympathy.

That day, the mayor had been evacuated from Gotham and from a safe location, had provided resources and information to support the work of the GCPD. During this time, Oswald had had the strange impression that his chief of staff was withholding information from him, information that might have facilitated the work of the police and expedited the arrest of Jerome Valeska. But since these were only Oswald's suspicions and he could not prove that Edward had indeed known how Jerome would operate long before the GCPD, he did not confront him.

Not even when the Valeska terror threatened to turn into a PR disaster for the mayor. After all, the press primarily blamed Oswald Cobblepot and the GCPD as the mayor's executive arm for the long night of madness, and no interview Oswald conducted, in which he affirmed that he had done everything in his power to protect the city, was able to rectify this.

For several weeks the shadow of this event remained over City Hall.

All the more important for the mayor of Gotham was the opening of the new orphanage and all the bigger was the gathering of the press in front of the former bank building, which after its long overdue demolition had acquired the charm of a little stone castle under the watchful eye of the best architects from all of Gotham.

Clearing his throat, Oswald turned to the crowd, smiling into the reporter cameras. "It is my great pleasure to announce the opening of the 'Gertrud Kapelput Orphanage'." He nodded twice, then turned his gaze absently to the ground with a wistful sigh. "I know firsthand how hard it is to grow up without parents. For a long time, it was just me and my mother..." He shook his head, tears gathered in his eyes. "I remember once she said, 'Oswald - Oswald, she said - we are all we have and all we need. No one else counts.' " He wiped the corners of his eyes. "When she was taken from me, I fell into a deep hole. But then I met my father." He smiled, looking desperate with his wet, burning cheeks. "He was... generous, accepted me into his home without condition, gave me a family again, before he, too, died." His voice became weak, a lump had formed in his throat and he had to cough slightly before he could speak any further. "I want the children of this orphanage to have a family here, someone to take care of them and accept them unconditionally. Someone...", he raised his nose, "who tells them that they are handsome - even if others say the opposite - and tells them that they are smart and that they can become great people." He flashed some final tears from the corners of his eyes, exhaled heavily and then finished his speech with a forced smile and a breathy "Thank you."

The press followed Oswald as he clumsily stepped off the stage that had been provisionally constructed in front of the building. They chased after him chattering, holding microphones and cameras in his face before being pushed back by security.

Edward, who had been standing next to the mayor during the speech, followed him through the big steel gate and into the park that formed the entrance to the orphanage.

Some children were already playing in the small courtyard, painting disembodied figures on the ground with chalk or playing catch in the lily beds that Oswald had had planted in honor of his mother.

On the steps to the front door, Oswald stopped, turned to his friend, and waited for him to catch up before smiling and saying, "I want to show you something, Ed."

He led him into the orphanage, ignoring the crowd of children who squeezed through the door beside him without any consideration. His speech earlier had made him think of his mother again, of his father, of their tragic deaths. He was simply too depressed to be annoyed about a few brats.

In contrast to Edward, who hissed in irritation when a child bumped into him and stained his black suit jacket with the faintly recognizable green squares, with orange juice.

They walked through a large common room with a dark stone fireplace at its center, then past the spacious dining room with its long dinner table and finally climbed two flights of stairs to the second floor.

"The bedrooms are on the first floor," Oswald explained in the manner of a real estate agent - as if he didn't know that Edward had seen and internalized the basic plans for the orphanage - then pointed in front of him to a single door that looked frighteningly lonely in the otherwise empty and windowless vestibule with the white wallpaper. "After you."

At first Edward pulled his brows together with a little skepticism, but his innate curiosity finally drove him to step forward and open the door. In front of him emerged a square room with stuccoed walls and light-colored floorboards. The walls to the left and right of the entrance had high, semi-circular arched windows that flooded the room with daylight. A single spotlight was mounted on the ceiling and directed at the wall opposite the entrance, where a statue of a woman made of light-colored stone was embedded in the wall. But the spotlight was not the only thing that bathed the statue in light. To the left and right of it stood two tall candelabras whose wicks had already been lit. In front of the statue there was a black iron fence, whose lance-shaped tips made it impossible to reach and touch the stone woman. The statue of the woman looked like the Madonna of a cathedral and although she had been modeled in a slightly different posture, namely with her hands outstretched in a benevolent manner, Edward immediately recognized her as another statue of Oswald's mother.

"I thought after Butch destroyed the first one, it would be safest up here. Here she can watch over everything in peace," Oswald said with a slight smile and teary eyes.

"I see," Edward merely replied, lowering his head slightly in the presence of Oswald's stone-chiseled, almost god-made mother. He would probably never understand Oswald's strong bond with his mother, but he was generally not a man for loving family relationships, for he himself had never had anything like loving parents - only a thug and his wife.

"Ed?"

The addressed man turned his head, looking with confusion at Oswald's fragile expression. "What is it, Oswald?"

Oswald briefly clasped his lower lip between his teeth, glanced down at the pale parquet floor. The grip around his cane hardened. "I noticed that you have become distant since Isabella's death."

Ed raised both eyebrows. He was stunned that his friend had noticed a change in him - after all, he had tried to avoid giving any sign of the anger that had built up inside him since that one night three weeks ago. "I have not reduced my workload," he argued, whereupon Oswald shook his head resolutely.

"That's not it. The way you talk, the way you do your work, even the way you look at me - you've become _colder_ ," he explained, then immediately raised a hand in appeasement. "You can grieve as you please, of course. I just thought..." He unsteadily tightened the corner of his mouth, let his chin circle in tension, then closed his eyelids for a moment before forcing himself to continue speaking. "Maybe there's something I can do to make you feel better, as a friend."

_As a friend._

Internally, Edward growled. So apparently Oswald believed that he was still in a state of mourning, did not even suspect that Edward knew his little secret and that he was not willing to forgive Oswald so easily for his lie. No, Edward Nygma - or as he wanted to be known since _that evening_ : the Riddler - had planned great things and at the end of his performance, Oswald would inevitably have to realize that Shivan Green was nothing more than a scumbag! Shivan Green, with whom Oswald had met several more times and even did it openly for now two weeks. In fact, they started meeting every Friday for dinner. Oswald always referred to Shivan as just a friend, but Edward knew from his own experience how flexible this term was for Oswald. Even if they were just friends at the moment - as Edward and Oswald were friends - how long would it take for Oswald to fall in love with the teacher - just as he had supposedly fallen in love with him? Edward was not willing to wait that long! He would protect his best friend from this man - just as he had once protected Oswald from Butch.

Ed knew that this Green was up to something and he would expose his dirty little game. And even if the teacher hadn't planned anything to hurt Oswald, even if he really liked him, that wouldn't stop Edward from taking the necessary measures and eventually proving that Shivan's feelings for Oswald weren't strong enough!

Edward couldn't help but smile at the thought of Oswald's idea of Shivan shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Ed?" Oswald tilted his head a little to one side, gave his smiling friend a confused look.

Caught in his joy, Edward unnaturally quickly lowered the corners of his mouth and then answered Oswald in a firm voice in response to his offer. "There is nothing you can do."

\---

For a long time there had been only one catch to Edward's perfect plan: he lacked resources. Although he was able to purchase materials through Oswald, his friend was not to know what Ed was planning, and so he had to look for the stupidest possible patron who would not pass on his plan to the Crime Lord, or find the necessary financial means himself. With the latter, of course, there was always the danger that Oswald would find out something.

By a call from none other than James 'Jim' Gordon, however, this problem should soon be solved and an opportunity for Edward should be provided.

"You don't understand what kind of people you are messing with! Not even when Carmine Falcone was running things around here did he ever - ever! - ask what was arriving at Dock 9c," whined the dock keeper, tied to a chair.

Jim Gordon had called Oswald to ask him for a favor. At first Oswald had shown no interest, but the thought that someone was transporting illegal weapons to Gotham by sea without his knowledge had stirred his outrage. After all, any illegal activity that was not done with Penguin's knowledge and taxation was a losing bargain. 

For this reason, Oswald had wanted to send Victor off immediately, but Edward had asked him to go instead. He was curious to know who these people were who dared to act under Penguin's nose and what kind of weapon they had, which caused the GCPD to resort to the help of the Underworld. Besides, obtaining information was his specialty anyway, while Victor was rather the man for rough stuff.

And so in the end Oswald had in fact sent Ed and some of his men out to investigate what was coming into this ominous Dock 9c on behalf of Jim Gordon.

Edward sighed in annoyance. "I think _you_ don't understand who you're messing with. Falcone no longer rules the Underworld, Mr. Penguin does, and if he wants to know what's coming into Dock 9c, you'll give me that information." He stepped closer to the dirty worker, leaning slightly down to him, staring into his panicked irises. "Because if you can't give me the information, I'll find someone else who will." At this phrase he had let his clasp-knife spring out and rammed it into the back of the man's hand without batting an eyelid. "And if I have to do this, I don't need you anymore."

The dock worker screamed, threw his head back in pain and shook his bonds in vain.

Edward pulled the knife from the back of his hand, which made the bound man hiss again, and cleaned it on a handkerchief. "I'm sure there are enough other dockworkers more loyal to Mr. Penguin."

"No, wait! I'll talk! I'll talk!" sputtered the man, the little pain seemed to have made him more reasonable. "Something arrived and was picked up a few days ago. But the box is still there." As his wrists were still tied to the armrests of the chair, he could only point with his chin to one of the back corners where a large rectangular crate was leaning against a wall. On its surface, 'Indian Hill' was written in black paint.

Initially Ed tore open his eyelids in surprise. "Indian Hill... _oh my..._ " But as soon as he had processed this information, a grin was carved on his lips. "How interesting." These foes Jim Gordon was fighting had to be very powerful if they had access to the Indian Hill merchandise and caused more fear in Gotham than Oswald Cobblepot. An instance even higher and more dangerous than the Underworld King himself. No wonder the GCPD couldn't handle these people alone.

And finally something dawned on him. He remembered what Hugo Strange had said back in Indian Hill: there was a secret instance that would control the fate of Gotham out of the shadows. The one riddle Edward had not been able to solve!

"Tell me everything you know about the people behind this order."

"I-I don't know anything more - honestly! Except that they are dangerous - really dangerous!", the bound man insisted with tearful eyes.

Edward raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "You must have something - an address, a phone number - something to contact these people when a delivery arrives."

The dock guard swallowed hard, confirming Ed's suspicions.

But at that very moment, a loud clattering sound came from the back of the dock hall. Ed and the few men he had taken from Oswald's ranks turned around and he saw from the corner of his eye how a man dressed all in black with an equally black half mask jumped out of the shadows and took out one of Edward's helpers with a knife hidden in his sleeve. The other men immediately raised their guns, aimed at the unknown knife fighter, who, however, moved nimbly enough to avoid the straight lines of fire and then slit through the men's bodies with terrifying elegance.

With only two henchmen left to separate the stranger from him, Edward took one last look at his prisoner before he disappeared from the port facility through a side exit. He hated to leave his source of information behind, but in the face of a knife-wielding assassin, escape was the only option.

\---

The idea of using information about the secret organization to solve his Oswald-Shivan problem had not yet occurred to him when he arrived at City Hall shortly after and entered the mayor's office.

The mayor sat at his heavy wooden desk, leaning over some documents that demanded his signature. But the steps of his chief of staff, echoing on the light-colored stone floor, made him look up.

"Ed, you're back already." He smiled in delight. "I assume you got the information." There was not a shadow of a doubt in his words. In fact, he was already picking up the phone to dial Jim Gordon's number.

Edward clasped his fingers around the back of the upholstered chair that stood in front of the mayor's desk. "The shipment had already arrived at the port and been picked up a few days earlier. I couldn't find out what it contained exactly, but the crate was stamped 'Indian Hill'. However, before I could make further investigations, we were attacked by an unknown person who... killed all your men. I felt compelled to flee." He squinted down at the seat of the empty chair. "I'm sorry for letting you down, Oswald."

Oswald lowered the phone back to the base and slowly rose from the desk to stagger to Edward, whose shoulders he clasped with his hands. "You have done nothing of the sort, Ed," he reassured him, then added with a soft smile, "I'm just glad nothing happened to you."

Ed returned the smile only briefly before a serious expression appeared on his face. "Something the dock guard said reminded me of what Hugo Strange once hinted at, that there was a secret organization that would rule Gotham from the shadows. I have a strong suspicion that these are the people behind the shipment."

Oswald frowned, somehow appearing unconvinced. "A secret, powerful organization that rules Gotham?" he asked with a skeptical voice, then gave a brief snort. "That sounds like hunting a phantom."

"A phantom who is undermining your rule," Ed argued. He was eager to learn more about this organization and didn't quite understand why Oswald's curiosity wasn't as great.

Oswald stepped back behind his desk again, sat back in his chair with a sigh and squinted thoughtfully across the room before quietly popping his lips and starting to speak. "At the Founders' Dinner, a woman approached me..." He made a dismissive gesture. "I never got her name. Anyway, she said that she was part of a group that was overseeing things and that I was one of the people they were keeping tabs on. She said that they would contact me soon - needless to say, this hasn't happened yet." He turned his chin around, his expression was a strange mixture of indifference and concern.

"So you knew about this group," Edward replied astonished.

Oswald tightened his facial muscles and shook his head. "I only just remembered."

"Then you agree we must find out more about this organization?"

Oswald propped his chin up in one hand, stared through Edward for a split second before weaving his fingers on the tabletop with a faint sigh. "I think that for once we should leave this to the GCPD."

Ed tightened his brows. "Forgive me, but this isn't like you at all."

"What would be more like me, in your opinion?" Oswald asked with a curious smile.

"You're not someone who tolerates anyone above himself."

"And that's why you want me to risk my current position as mayor to go after a phantom organization?"

Ed, discontented, cocked his jaws as Oswald leaned back in his chair and explained his next steps for his friend.

"Of course I don't want a mysterious organization above me, and certainly not one that thinks it can give me orders," he winked his eyes, "but if we go into battle without enough information, the losses will be too great to make victory worthwhile. So I propose instead we use the GCPD. Jim Gordon will find out for us who this organization is, and if the police fail to overthrow them, we will put a bullet in the back of our already weakened enemies." He smiled broadly, more than happy with his own idea.

Edward snorted softly. "I don't think Jim Gordon will get information on this organization any quicker than I could."

Oswald intertwined his fingers and smiled mischievously. "Who knows, maybe Jim already has some information he hasn't shared with us, and if he wants to know what's behind the shipment of Dock 9c, he'll tell me everything he knows."

The plan was good, but Edward couldn't stand the thought of having to sit back while Jim Gordon, of all people, solved the biggest riddle Ed had ever faced and just as he was thinking about how he could gather information about the organization without Oswald's consent, an idea suddenly popped into his head with which he could achieve all his current goals at once.

And this idea had platinum blond hair and glitter stilettos. 

\---

"Is that Tabitha on the phone?" Edward asked in a taunting voice as he entered the empty Sirens Club and found Barbara Kean with her mobile phone on her ear. "You know, if Oswald really wanted to find Butch, your girlfriend wouldn't make a difference." A broad, confident grin painted on his lips. "I would track them both down."

Barbara closed her cell phone without a proper goodbye, gave Edward an unimpressed look, then slammed one leg over the other. "If it isn't Ozzy's lapdog. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"How loyal are you to the mayor?"

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "Is this a trick question?"

Edward smiled knowingly. "I understand you're trying to establish some goodwill with the gangs."

"You do what you can," she replied. If she was nervous, she at least didn't show it, hiding behind a fake smile and a degrading look.

"I also heard that you don't feel valued enough."

Barbara, with caught bitterness, pursed her lip-gloss-gleaming lips. "I'm not someone who likes to sit at the kids' table, baby."

"That's what I was hoping for," purred Ed contentedly, causing the Blonde to cock her head.

"You're up to something," she remarked with lowered lids, to which Edward tensed his shoulders and responded with inviting gestures, "What would you say if I knew a way for you to play in the big leagues?"

Barbara was skeptical, not trusting the cold man. But it wouldn't hurt to listen to the offer first, would it? "I'm all ears."

"Apparently there's a group of people who rule Gotham from the shadows," Edward explained without much introduction, and was a little annoyed when Barbara reacted with a confused look, just as Oswald had. Couldn't anyone just accept this somehow obvious fact?

The Blonde raised a hand. "Wait, wait. Are you saying there's an organization in Gotham that's above the mayor **and** above the underworld?" She cackled. "Poor Pengy. I'm sure this is not what he pictured." The smile on her lips betrayed how much she enjoyed Oswald's curtailment of power. "But I don't understand. What have I got to do with it?"

Edward lowered his eyelids ecstatically. His superior smile had not once slipped from his lips during the entire conversation. "This is the best part. You will help me track down this organization."

Barbara frowned confusedly. "Why me?"

"A good question," Edward praised with a slight nod. "To be honest, it's not really _you_ I need, it's your financial resources."

Now Barbara seemed even more confused than before. "My financial resources? Last time I checked, your owner was one of the richest men in Gotham."

Edward replied nothing, let the Blond work out the answer for herself.

"Unless..." Barbara tightened the corner of her mouth in a superior fashion. "Unless you can't use Oswald's money because he doesn't know about this."

"What do you say?"

"I say," Barbara leaned forward in her chair, "what exactly is in this for you?"

Of course she didn't understand. Edward lowered his eyelids in amusement and dramatically stretched out his arms. "First, the satisfaction of having solved the riddle of this secret group."

"And?" she urged.

"And I would have to tap your financial resources for another purpose."

"A purpose Ozzy must not know about either," she concluded with eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"There's someone who could harm the mayor and I want to get rid of that person before it becomes a problem, that's all." When Barbara lifted her lids in fear, he added with a faint sigh, "I'm not talking about Butch or Tabitha."

"And Ozzy doesn't know about your chivalry?"

"He has more important things to do than deal with these little problems."

"He doesn't even know this person is a problem," Barbara countered perceptively.

Edward snorted. "No. But he will - it's part of my plan."

Barbara leaned back in her chair, brooding for a moment before she rose and descended the steps to the dance floor where Edward was. "I find this..." she pointed at him and moved her index finger in a circle, "kind of weird, but I'm in." Grinning, she bent over the bar counter, resting her elbows upon it and placing her chin on her intertwined fingers. "So - what exactly do you want Mommy to take out her credit card for?"

\---

The next Friday, as so often, Edward helped Oswald choose his outfit. Only this time it wasn't for a press conference or a charity event, but for his weekly dinner with his _friend_ , Shivan Green.

Oswald was in front of the large standing mirror, fiddling a little uncertainly with his black tailcoat with the pointed, slightly shiny lapels. Underneath he wore a purple velvet waistcoat with a round collar and silver buttons, a dark blue tie with a purple pattern, a magenta tie pin, cuff-links matching it, and a white dress shirt.

"How do I look?" he asked his friend with a nervous snort.

Edward smiled. "What is light as a feather and yet no man can hold it for long?"

It did not take Oswald long to guess the answer. "Breath."

"You look breathtaking," Ed whispered candidly.

The compliment made Oswald bashfully lower his gaze, a happy smile on his lips.

"You should invite Mr. Green to the mansion sometime, don't you think?" Edward asked, stroking absently over the smaller man's shoulders as if he was removing dust.

"Would that be all right with you?" Oswald asked with lowered brows.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Oswald seemed to have no answer to this, for he wiped the question aside to reply instead, smiling: "Perhaps you are right. A dinner here at the mansion could be nice." He glanced at Edward, turning his head slightly. "Would you join us? I know you don't really like Shivan, but it would mean a lot to me if you two got along."

Edward forced himself to smile. "If you want me there, I'll be there." It was fitting that Oswald had invited Ed himself, so he could find out more about Shivan and his intentions without having to eavesdrop on the two men. 

"Aren't you two just adorable?" it suddenly sounded from the door frame where Barbara stood, wrapped in a white fur coat. The maid had let her in. "Like two tame snakes - needless to say, I was never very fond of snakes." She smiled insolently.

Oswald immediately went on the defensive. "What are you doing here, Barbara?"

The Blonde detached herself from the doorway with an elegant gesture and strutted into the room in her diamond-studded high heels. "Relax - I'm not here for you, Ozzy." She winked. "I'm here for your lapdog."

As she pointed her long artificial nail at Edward, Edward's face tightened.

"If it's all right with you, I would like to take him for a walk," Barbara continued with an amused whisper, one hand secretively raised.

Oswald opened his eyelids in surprise, then looked at Edward in search of an answer. A well-known fear nested in his bowels. The fear that Ed had fallen in love with someone else again before Oswald had found the courage to confess his feelings to him. But this time the fear was mixed with disgust as it was apparently Barbara Kean who now possessed the heart of his best friend.

"Well?" With Oswald silent but quivering, Barbara turned to Edward. "Shall we go?"

"Wait outside. I'll be right behind you."

She rolled her eyes slightly, then shrugged and turned to face the door. "Whatever. But remember, I have better things to do than wait all day for you to kiss your owner goodbye. So..." She pointed to her bare wrist. "Tick Tock."

Edward snorted softly. If he didn't depend on her money for his plan, he might have put a bullet between her eyes for her behavior.

"You..." Oswald hesitated and, with a gulp, stared down at the tips of his black and white Oxfords with Brogue decorations, before giving his friend a sad look, "... have a date?"

The corners of Ed's mouth twitched in despair. He could think of no excuse, so he finally answered with a scratchy "Yes" and looked at the free spot between their shoes.

Oswald struggled to smile, emitting a shaky snort that sounded less relaxed and amused than he had intended. "I didn't know you two were so close."

Edward took his lower lip between his teeth. "We are not."

Oswald lowered his gaze. "Oh... I see..." But he did not understand at all.

With visible reluctance Ed tore himself away from the moment, raised his head a little too quickly and forced himself to smile softly. "I must go now. Enjoy your dinner, Mayor Cobblepot." He nodded submissively, his facial expressions resembling those of a loyal employee.

"Enjoy your date, my Chief of Staff," Oswald replied with a false professionalism, but immediately lowered the corners of his mouth after Edward had disappeared from the room.

\---

"I told you to meet me after 7pm," Edward hissed as they sat in the car.

Barbara made a grimace. "So what, I came a little earlier and picked you up. What's the problem?"

"I didn't want Oswald to know about this." You could feel his anger at every bend he took a little too sharp.

"So what? So he thinks we're on a date. There is no way he can know what we're really up to." She leaned back in her seat, stroking her blonde curls once.

"It wasn't part of my plan that he thinks we have a date," Edward argued sternly, had both jaws gnashed together as he spoke.

"What are you getting so upset about?"

Instead of an answer, Edward merely drew his lips into a narrow line, staring out of the windshield with a serious look. The sun had long since set, streetlights bathed the city into a prolonged day, colorful signs and billboards.

Deep down, Edward probably knew why he didn't want Oswald to think he was dating Barbara, but it was easier to convince himself that he just didn't want to jeopardize his carefully worked out plan rather than admit he had romantic feelings for his best friend. It was easier to say that he wanted to protect Oswald from a bad person like Shivan than to admit to himself that he was jealous.

When they stopped in front of the store where Edward intended to purchase the necessary tools, Barbara stared up at the sign with an amused smile, where 'Stocks & Bondage' was written in a flashing red. The shop window had been decorated with black whips, riding crops and a female mannequin in a leather harness.

"Now I see why you want to buy on my credit card," she grinned. "A bill from this store would probably surprise our Ozzy." She shrugged. "Although... maybe he's into that sort of thing." She lifted her eyelids ecstatically and formed a hand into a claw with a playful growl.

Edward wasn't paying attention to her. With a clear goal in mind, he got out of the car and entered the shop that offered additional opening hours for 'special customers', Barbara following behind.

Inside, Ed and Barbara were facing other mannequins leaning against the wall like lifeless doormen. One had a female shape and wore a pink teddy in wet-look optics, around her neck hung an equally pink gag-ball. A second one had a male shape and wore a golden chain harness, as well as a necklace and two bracelets made of the same material.

Barbara pursed her lips with interest, examining the mannequins with playful curiosity. "I can't help but wonder what exactly it is you're up to, Nygma." She ran a finger across the tightly woven chain cloth. "Are you trying to eliminate Ozzy's enemy or are you inviting him to a fetish party?" She winked once and moved an index finger to her lips in a secretive manner. "I promise I won't tell."

Edward snorted softly, but then put on an arrogant smile and replied, "I don't expect you to understand my plans, given your intellect," before he turned the corner, thereby entering a spacious hall where larger items such as St. Andrew's crosses, swings or stocks were displayed.

The whole store looked like a mixture of steampunk/industrial club and a broken down warehouse, with naked lamps, high, curtain-less lattice windows, metal craft counters on which the BDSM toys were displayed and a red, dusty stone floor. All over the hall cages were scattered, reaching up to the ceiling, in which other mannequins in leather and latex costumes pressed their hands against the metal bars, and opposite the window front a round structure led into a stone adjoining room whose walls looked wet - like a bondage cellar in the bondage shop.

And while Edward turned directly to the chubby milk-faced salesman, who had more hair on his chin than on his scalp, Barbara looked at the goods displayed on one of the many metal tables - especially the whips and riding crops, several of which she lifted and turned in the white ceiling light. When Ed turned around once to look at her before handing a sketch to the salesman, she slapped one of the riding crops with an erotic growl on the tabletop. "How about something like this?"

"No need," Edward replied dryly before moving to another corner of the store where electronic items were on display. He showed particular interest in the clamps and electrode cables, grinning gloomily as he selected several and took them to the sales counter. Next he headed for the bondage corner and without a second thought grabbed a black gag-ball and brought it to the sales counter as well.

"I would also need two of these devices," he said casually to the salesman, pointing to an open catalog, where a large wooden chair with metal cuffs on the armrests was shown.

The milk-face noted down the number of the object and opened the sketch Edward had given him earlier. "Are you absolutely sure about this? With such a construction you have to be careful with the amount of power you use...", the salesman started worriedly, but was immediately interrupted by Ed, who had tightened both corners of his mouth and replied with lowered lids and a husky voice: "I know what I'm doing."

The salesman recoiled, realizing that his intervention was inappropriate. "Forgive my rudeness. I'm merely concerned for your lovely partner." His eyes turned to Barbara, which unnerved Edward and raised his eyebrows.

"She's nothing of the sort," he said without the slightest emotion in his voice. "Can you run the objects to this address here?" Ed handed the seller a note with the address of a small warehouse that Barbara had rented and in which he could complete his final preparations. It had to be ready by the fundraiser in a week's time, because then he would start looking for the first test objects. Test objects, which in the best case could also help him to answer the riddle of the true ruler of Gotham.

While the salesman was finishing the bill, Barbara approached the counter and added a black bullwhip to Edward's purchases.

He raised both brows in shocked skepticism, whereupon the Blonde grinned broadly and declared: "A gift - for a friend. After all, I'm the one who's paying."

She pulled a rhinestone wallet from her white fur coat, reached for her credit card and held it provocatively between her index and middle finger while she gave Edward a challenging look. "If you want me to pay, I naturally would like to know what exactly is going to happen with..." she squinted down at the counter, "these things. I don't want to open the paper tomorrow and find out that Ozzy was tortured by an unknown person with electric shocks that were paid by my card, kapish? I know what kind of games you're capable of playing to take out unwanted people." She winked once.

Ed smiled unimpressed. "Butch talked."

"Sang - like a plump turkey," she corrected, not holding back her contempt for Oswald's former henchman, and waved the cash card once. "Well?"

Edward's smile grew darker and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. "The name of my target is Shivan Green."

Barbara pursed her lips in surprise. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"I doubt you know him. He's a teacher."

"A teacher?" she repeated, eyebrows narrowed skeptically. "How can a teacher be harmful to our Ozzy? Has he forgotten his homework too often?" she joked mockingly.

"Oswald meets with him regularly for dinner," Ed explained, his voice accompanied by a soft growl.

"And?"

Edward lowered his eyelids. "I'm sure his intentions are no good."

"That's all?" Her forehead was furrowed, her voice raised, underscored by bewilderment. Had Nygma now gone completely bonkers?

She put her credit card on the counter, keeping the man busy with the billing process, while she moved closer to Edward, giving him a penetrating look from below. "Do you have any evidence at all to support your suspicions?" Not that Barbara cared much for the life of some random teacher, but if the whole thing went to shit, it was still her money that had supported Edward's wacky plan; Penguin would probably take away all of her underworld control for it, she wouldn't be allowed to sit at the children's table anymore, for Christ's sake, not even at the kitty table.

"I'll get those," Edward replied, appearing completely sure of himself.

Barbara blinked her heavily mascaraed eyelashes and tapped the taller one on the chest with her flat hand. "Fine... Whatever you say. But isn't your caution a bit excessive when it comes to Ozzy?"

Ed lowered his eyebrows suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Barbara led one of her artificial nails over Edward's lapels. "It almost seems like you're - how shall I put it - jealous that Ozzy doesn't pay enough attention to you." She had lifted her eyelids in a knowing manner, staring up at Ed's face from underneath, whose features immediately hardened on that statement.

"I just take my job as chief of staff very seriously and try to keep all dangers away from the mayor. Oswald can date whoever he likes - as long as these people are trustworthy," explained Edward, the mask of cold respectability on his face.

"Date?" Barbara raised her eyebrows in surprise before lifting the corner of her mouth, knowing. "So that's how it is."

"That's how what is?" Edward asked sternly and with visible anger in the brown irises.

"I have just understood your motive."

"My motive?"

"Your motive for getting rid of Ozzy's lover." She stretched out her arms. "The oldest motive in the book."

Edward turned his chin to one side, his brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then I'll say it in a way you can understand: the rich men want it, the wise men know it, the poor all need it and..."

"Love," Ed immediately interposed the answer and then squeezed the eyelids together as if he had to work through Barbara's claim before he added with sweeping gestures: "Your assertion is absurd. Oswald is a friend - nothing more."

Barbara ran a finger through the air. "But _you_ would like to be more than his friend," she whispered. A knowing grin graced her lips. 

Ed clenched his jaws together. The fact that he didn't say anything was more than enough for Barbara.

She slapped his cheek twice in a maternal manner. "Don't you worry - I'm still going to help you with your little plan, as long as you keep to your end of the bargain."

Giggling, she turned away from him, took her credit card from the vendor and the brown paper bag containing her and Edward's purchases, then strutted ahead towards the exit. Ed followed her after a short delay.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's better than shopping at the bondage shop with Barbara Kean?


	5. The green-eyed (and dressed) monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the evening arrives on which Oswald has invited Shivan to dinner at the mansion, Edward can no longer hide his irrational feelings for his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a bit longer - I've got a lot on my plate right now >.<  
> I want to thank you all for the nice comments and kudos! Every time I am thrilled to bits :)  
> Hope you all enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter 5

**The green-eyed (and dressed) monster**

"Of course. Then please convey my deepest condolences to our dear friend James," Oswald purred in feigned politeness before lowering the phone back to the base and rising from his desk with an angry outcry.

"Has something happened?" asked Edward, who had entered the room at that time, three different colored ties hung over his arm. Oswald had just been getting dressed for dinner when the telephone had rang.

"Well..." Oswald had raised his shoulders, his hands clasped tensely the dark wooden desk and his lips hovered somewhere between an amused smile and an angry snort. "We probably won't be able to get any more information from Gordon for the time being, because his uncle has apparently knocked his own lights out. He's supposedly in mourning right now." He slammed both hands on the tabletop. "How very convenient for him!"

Edward adjusted the bridge of his glasses with his left index finger. It was not so much an act of necessity as a tic with which he underlined his own presence - similar to clearing one's throat. "Forgive me, but may I ask if you are considering taking action yourself now to track down the organization?"

The fact that Oswald then turned his chin to one side already told him that this was not the case. "Let me think about it."

"We can talk about it again after dinner," Ed suggested, then raised his right arm, over which still hung the three ties. "First of all, let's finish dressing you."

"You're right. Shivan will be here in less than half an hour."

On this Tuesday the day had finally come. Oswald had invited the teacher to dinner at the mansion. The perfect opportunity for Edward to feel Shivan out. By now he had also completed all the preparations; the equipment had been delivered, its assembly completed. But it was still too early to put his plan into action. He still needed a few test subjects to make sure that the instruments would do the job. Just one small mistake, one tiny misconstruction could eventually lead to a fatal result - for Oswald. And Oswald's death was the last thing Edward wanted.

After Oswald had decided on the brown and white paisley patterned tie, which he wore with a dark gray tailcoat with black vertical stripes, matching trousers, a black waistcoat with rounded collar corners, a white velvet pocket square, white nacre cuff-links and black oxfords with a semi brogue pattern, he and Edward went downstairs, waited in the parlor for the teacher to arrive.

Edward pushed up the sleeve of his olive green suit jacket to look at the dial of his wristwatch, then tightened the knot of his tie with black and red pepita pattern and lowered himself against the back of the sofa. Meanwhile, Oswald poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass and sat down with his drink on the upholstery, took one noble sip before choking down the rest in a quick gulp and placing the glass on the sofa table.

"Where is he?" Oswald hissed nervously, changing his position in the sofa cushions several times.

"He has ten minutes left." Edward crossed his arms in front of his chest.

When the bell rang two minutes after the agreed time, Oswald jumped up from the sofa, followed Edward limping into the hall where Olga had already opened the door and invited the guest in.

"Sorry I'm late - it's pouring outside like buckets of rain," Shivan apologized, stripping off his soaked blue trench-coat under which he was wearing a plain gray turtleneck sweater and a navy blue jacket.

"No hard feelings," assured Oswald with a smile before the two men hugged each other.

Edward stood beside them, looked at the teacher with an intense gaze, scrutinizing his every move, his clothes, the plain brown derby shoes. He sniffed his aftershave with a strong sage note, the smell of cheap 3in1 shampoo in his hair. If this man really wanted to seduce Oswald, he definitely didn't try hard enough - Edward could already say that much.

"Shall we go into the dining room?" Oswald suggested, made an inviting gesture.

As Shivan went forward, Edward was the last to follow, staring over Oswald's small body at the back of Shivan's head.

The table was richly set. Framed by two lighted candles were serving plates of golden-brown pike-perch fillet in a beurre blanc sauce, mixed salad with mushrooms, shrimps with Olga's homemade aioli and potatoes.

Just through the doorway, Edward accelerated his stride, strutting past Oswald and Shivan to pull back the chair at the head of the table for his best friend to sit on. He smiled warmly when Oswald, somewhat ashamed, looked down at his shoes before sitting down at the table. He himself sat down on Oswald's right side, Shivan on the left.

"Can I offer you some wine?" Oswald asked the teacher as soon as he sat down, and took the bottle of white wine from the table to hold it in front of his chest. "Ed has chosen it. He has a knack for it."

Ed bowed his head modestly at first before a broad smile formed on his lips and his eyes flashed with self-respect. "It's not really complicated. You just have to consider the region and vintage and match it to the menu," he explained, adding: "For example, a pike-perch in butter sauce is best served with a low acidity wine like Chardonnay, which enhances the creaminess of the meal. Highly acidic varieties of vine would produce an overly aggressive nuance when combined with pan-fried fish".

Oswald turned to the teacher, grinning sharply as he pointed at Edward. "You see - that's what I was talking about."

Shivan laughed and the corners of Edward's mouth fell down immediately. Was Oswald making fun of him?

"I gladly take a sip - even though I may not be able to appreciate the quality of the wine enough, as I seldom have the pleasure of drinking good wine in my profession," Shivan said with a grin, letting Oswald fill his glass. Taking a small sip, he looked around the dining hall, then put the crystal glass back on the table. "I still can't believe you live in such a luxurious house." His eyes met Oswald's. "But it somehow suits you - the nobility, I mean."

Oswald, who couldn't really handle compliments, bashfully put up the corners of his mouth. "Thank you."

Edward was lost in thought. Was that what this was all about? Oswald's money? Could it be that the poor elementary school teacher was only interested in the Mayor because he had a considerable amount of wealth?

"Do you actually live here too, Mr. Nygma?", Shivan suddenly asked, tearing Ed, who had just absentmindedly cut a potato in half, from his thoughts.

"I have a room here - yes," he replied with a faint smile.

Their eyes rested on each other for a moment too long and Edward knew that Shivan knew. He already knew what he himself was not quite ready to admit.

"What do you do when you're not teaching, Mr. Green," Ed asked, a hint of hostility in his voice, the eyelids slightly lowered. He hadn't meant to sound so spiteful, but Shivan's competitive nature tore holes in his cool frame; they became deeper as he noticed Oswald giving him an irritated glance.

Shivan smiled in a form of misguided arrogance. "I still play football regularly with my friends."

In Edward's mind, that fit perfectly. A bully and football player - the classic. This had also been a popular combination back in his school days. He remembered long days in the locker room after the athletes had locked him in there. Actually this hadn't been a problem for Ed, he had possibilities to keep himself busy - reading for example. But when not even the gym teacher had missed him and he was not freed from his confinement until after class, it had hurt him a little. No one missed the nerdy loser, no one wanted him on their team in class, so it was a relief for everyone when Ed took too long to get changed and the door was slammed in his face and locked.

He took his white wine glass, sipped from the pear-colored liquid. Oswald and Shivan were in a conversation about former classmates and it irritated Edward how calmly Oswald spoke to the former thug. For Ed his decision was already clear: Shivan was not trustworthy and had to be eliminated. He wasn't even worth breathing the same air as Oswald and Edward, and he would make sure that he would never get the chance again.

With restless fingers he adjusted the frame of his glasses. "I take months to build, seconds to destroy and years to rebuild. What am I?"

Shivan raised his eyelids in confusion. "A riddle - for me?"

Edward nodded his head slightly, seeing from the corner of his eye how Oswald knit his brows. He would not be surprised if his friend had already solved the riddle. He probably even understood to a certain degree why Edward alluded to it - to trust. Oswald could see that Edward did not trust Mr. Green and was trying to lure him into a trap with this riddle.

Therefore it was not surprising that Oswald didn't even give Shivan the time to think about the answer to the riddle, but immediately changed the subject.

"By the way, our benefit gala for orphans takes place on this Friday evening - this is also the reason why I had to cancel our weekly dinner."

Edward gave a barely audible snort and Shivan beamed euphorically. "I've already heard about this. It's sponsored by Wayne Enterprises, isn't it?"

Oswald squeezed his eyelids a little annoyed, turned his chin. "Wayne Enterprises is providing the space and has already made a generous donation - yes - but Ed was responsible for planning and organizing the whole event." As he spoke, he moved his hand across the table, penetrated Ed's dining area with his fingertips alone, but stopped before he reached his fingers.

Oswald's passive compliment inevitably made Edward smile. "Only Gotham's highest elite are expected," he boasted.

\---

The rest of the meal went quite smoothly. Oswald talked with Shivan about the benefit gala and other projects he wanted to tackle as Mayor and Edward added to his remarks here and there. The hostility had almost completely disappeared from his words, had been exchanged for a cool businesslike tone.

Oswald did not fully understand why Edward despised his friendship with the teacher so much. It was obvious that he didn't trust him and at their first meeting in Gotham Elementary Oswald had fully understood this, but many weeks had passed since then and Shivan had proven to him that he meant it when he said he was sorry and that he had changed. Maybe Edward just needed a little more time to warm up with Shivan. He at least hoped so, because he wanted Ed to get along with Shivan, wanted his best friend to get along with his former schoolmate.

After dinner they had gone to the parlor for a sip of whiskey.

"I've already had quite a lot of wine, I shouldn't drink so much - after all, I have to work early again tomorrow morning," Shivan said with a frivolous grin as he accepted the whiskey glass that Oswald had filled for him.

"How can you stand getting up early every morning and spending half the day with _children_?", Oswald asked, pronouncing the word 'children' as if he was not talking about human beings but about particularly large, cross-eyed rats.

Shivan almost spit out the whiskey laughing. "You say that like children are something terrible!"

Oswald smirked. "I've never really warmed up to children."

"What's there to get warm about?" asked the teacher, had lowered his eyebrows in confusion. "Have you ever had much contact with children?"

Oswald lifted his eyelids and at the same time turned his chin to one side. "I guess you're right - I really haven't. But those I _did_ meet were usually irritating, to put it politely."

"Does that mean you never want any yourself?" Shivan then asked, before spreading his arms, palms facing the ceiling. "To whom will you leave all this then?"

Caught completely off guard by this question, Oswald let the corners of his mouth drop, squinted silently into the air. He had never thought about who he would one day bequeath his fortune to - why should he, he was after all still in the prime of life?

From the corners of his eyes, Oswald noticed how Ed had tensed his features. In contrast to him and Shivan, Edward was not sitting, instead he stood at a distance of three steps to Oswald's right, had symbolically already withdrawn from the conversation and seemed merely interested in participating as a mute observer.

"I'm not a real supporter of the blood right - those were the old days. When I die, the person capable of prevailing will have the right to claim my titles and riches. So there is no need for an heir of my own," explained Oswald after a brief period of reflection, a confident grin on his mouth. Succession was something for the old generation - Falcone, Maroni, they had lived by these weak principles. Oswald, on the other hand, believed in the right of the strongest, the smartest. Even if he were to have a descendant at some point - which he strongly doubted - he too would have to prove himself in Gotham first to be worthy of his crown.

"Are _you_ interested in producing an heir, Mr. Green? Perhaps you already have a suitable woman in mind?" Edward interjected, suddenly being part of the conversation again. His eyes sparkled and Oswald couldn't quite grasp the reason for it.

Shivan waved his hand in refusal. "Well... yes, but I haven't found the right person yet. I don't want to choose just anybody and end up regretting my choice. Call me ridiculous or a hopeless romantic, but I believe in true love and that I recognize it when I see it."

Oswald beamed. "I don't find this ridiculous at all. My mother once told me that there is one special person in the world for everyone - true love - and when you find it, you have run to it and hold on to it."

"What's your opinion, Mr Nygma? Do you believe in one true love?"

When Oswald turned towards Ed, he had his gaze lowered. "There are seven billion people in the world, if there was only one true love for each of us, the probability of meeting this person would be close to zero," Edward explained dryly, and Oswald had to choke down an unpleasant lump. Hadn't Ed said that love followed no logic while he was still in a relationship with Isabella?

"Don't be such a pessimist," laughed Shivan, before leaning forward in his upholstered chair and nonchalantly placing one hand on Oswald's knee. "We're not going to let that discourage us, are we?"

"Of course not."

"Shouldn't you get going?" Edward squinted stiff-faced at his wristwatch, tearing the teacher from his relaxed posture.

"What time is it?"

"It's past midnight."

"Oh, God..." Shivan gasped, hurrying up from his upholstered chair and lowering his half-full whiskey glass onto the small end table. "I still have an hour's drive ahead of me."

"I'm sorry we kept you here so long," Oswald said, as he too rose from his chair, pointing out of the room and toward the front door with one hand.

"Not at all - it was a very lovely evening. We should do it again."

"I agree."

Edward remained silent, accompanied Oswald and Shivan to the front door, where the teacher said goodbye to his former schoolmate with a hug before reaching out a hand to Edward.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you properly, Mr. Nygma."

"It was nice to meet you too." Ed reached for his hand, while a false smile swayed his lips. 

After Shivan had left, Oswald and Edward silently went back to the parlor where Oswald emptied the rest of his whiskey.

Clearing his throat, Edward raised a fist to his mouth. "Do you intend to invite him again in the future?"

"I assume you are against it." Oswald pursed his lips with relish as he put his now empty glass back, then turned to his friend, brows lowered. "Say... Ed, what's your problem with him?"

Edward tried logic. "I think you put too much trust in him. Remember, Oswald, he's treated you badly before."

"People can change." The smaller one raised his brows with a smile. "You're the best proof of that, Ed."

Oswald's words made it sound as if he approved of Edward's change, as if he valued him and his abilities, but since their dinner, Edward was no longer sure of that. In a sudden fit of anger, he lowered his eyelids. "My change does not seem to have been strong enough if I am still publicly humiliated, by the man I thought to be my best friend." Humiliated as he had been by Arnold Flass and Tom Dougherty.

Irritated, Oswald tilted his head, furrowed his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

Ed averted his gaze and snorted softly. "I'm talking about how you and Mr. Green had a good laugh about my wine knowledge."

Completely confused, Oswald pulled back his face. "I didn't-" he started, but was immediately interrupted by Edward, who raised his flat hand in a warning gesture.

"Save it, Oswald. You're no better than any of the others. You all just see me as the strange little Ed - with his silly riddles, his niche knowledge and his awkward behavior," he grumbled, whereupon Oswald puffed up his cheeks in indignation, clenched his hands into fists and turned the tip of his nose towards the ceiling. Never ever had he thought of Edward in that way! How could his best friend seriously believe that!?

"I never thought any of these things about you, Ed," Oswald almost shouted. "If anything, I find your knowledge admirable. I admit that sometimes the riddles gnaw at my nerves a little, but I would never make fun of you for that in front of others!"

Gasping for breath, Edward paused to breathe, drawing his lips into a fine line. You could watch his gaze grow warmer, the anger disappearing from the corners of his mouth, changing places with a faint uncertainty. He lowered his brows in doubt. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes," Oswald insisted, his voice had given way to a shriek and he gestured wildly with his clenched fists.

An uncomfortable calm set in, making both men swallow, preventing them from looking the other in the eye. Edward was ashamed of his unfounded anger and Oswald was ashamed that he had raised his voice. For a brief moment, Oswald felt the need to hug Edward and ask him how he had ever doubted his appreciation for him but he couldn't move and after a while, he had simply missed the moment. Maybe it was a weak pride that was holding them back. None of them was willing to admit their mistake.

Only when Edward adjusted the bridge of his glasses on his nose and lowered his eyes while clearing his throat, the silence vanished, was replaced by his lumbering words. "I'm quite exhausted. I will go to my room."

Oswald chewed on his lower lip from the inside. "Do this... good night, Ed." His voice trembled audibly.

"Night, Oswald."

Although they had actually resolved their differences, Oswald still felt like they were in the middle of an argument and he didn't want to argue with his friend - especially not about Shivan. After all, out of consideration for Edward, he had waited to announce his friendship with the teacher, had always met him outside their house until that evening and had tried to avoid mentioning his name in private conversations with Ed. And yet, in spite of all precautions, a dispute had arisen over Shivan.

\---

And when the Friday of the benefit gala finally arrived, Edward Nygma was ready to prove to his best friend how much he meant to him. It was the day he would gather the test subjects. And it was also the day he would get closer to solving the riddle of Gotham's true ruler.

Contrary to his usual nature, he had mingled with the visitors while the Mayor had been engaged in a conversation with an elderly lady. He wore a black suit with shawl lapels, a grass-green waistcoat, bow tie and pocket square, and black Oxford shoes.

He was standing between Mr. and Mrs. Freyberg, him being a member of the city council, and her head of a charity. They'd been married for nearly 30 years and had two children.

"Sometimes in this job, you get the feeling that the Mayor is not the highest authority in Gotham. Maybe it's really organizations like Wayne Enterprise that shape the city - or who knows, maybe there's even someone above Wayne Enterprise," Edward said with a knowing smile, noting with satisfaction how Mr. Freyberg shrugged his brows and Mrs. Freyberg nervously turned her gaze away.

That made for six people who were eligible for further conversation - and the evening was still young.

He squinted over his shoulder to Oswald, who was still standing with the elderly lady. Soon he could remove Shivan from his life. A smile carved into his face, but it didn't last long, because at the same moment Barbara entered his field of vision, coming towards him with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her with a growl.

She brushed a blond curl of hair from her face. "Making sure you hold up to your end of the bargain, Eddie."

The nickname made him angrily purse his lips. "I've already collected people who might know more about this secret group, all political figures who've already served their pay in Gotham under the former Mayor."

"And Ozzy suspects nothing?" Now they both looked over at Oswald.

"Not a thing."

"Good, because as you know, after what happened with our dear Butch, he keeps my leash extra short. Also, Tabby's phone calls have become erratic..."

"Are you afraid she might have run off with that gorilla?" Ed asked with a gloating grin.

Barbara hissed. "Just hurry up."

"Barbara?" Oswald approached, waving a glass of champagne in one hand like the Blonde, while holding his cane with the other. "Unusual to run into you at an event that is not centered around you." He raised his eyebrows in a mocking manner.

"I can return the compliment." Both smiled hostilely at each other before Barbara turned away from both men. "Anyway, I just wanted to stop by to congratulate you on..." she waved her free hand, "whatever this is."

Oswald tilted his head. "I appreciate that," he replied sarcastically.

The Blonde smiled unaffected. "I'll go and join the crowd."

After Barbara was out of earshot, Oswald emitted an angry snort. "She's been acting suspiciously for some time - she's up to something, I'm sure of it."

"Don't worry about her, Oswald. She can't hold a candle to you."

Oswald raised the wings of his nose. "It just bothers me how sure she always acts."

Looking up at Edward, he noticed behind him that Bruce Wayne and his butler had just entered the gala, both in black tuxedos.

"Bruce Wayne!", the Mayor greeted the rich boy and approached him with outstretched arms. Edward followed with slow steps. "Nice to have you and your large bank account at my fundraiser."

"It is only natural considering the occasion, Mr. Cobblepot," Bruce replied with an outstretched hand, making Oswald's brows knit.

"Since when did you become so formal? Oswald - please," he blinked, then bent over slightly and took the boy's hand with his right, while his left grasped the back of his hand.

"Oswald - of course." Bruce smiled apologetically.

Leaning back again, Oswald noticed a small drop of blood dripping from Bruce's nose. He immediately pointed to his own nose. "You got a little..."

With concern, Alfred leaned forward to the boy, who now had a finger between his lip and nose, feeling the wet blood. As soon as he had felt the liquid on his finger, Bruce's face distorted into a frightened grimace and he dashed forward recklessly, almost pushing the Mayor off his feet and rushing towards the bathroom.

"Master Bruce," Alfred shouted after him, and when the boy did not react, he followed him in a hurry.

Oswald had been caught by Edward who had wrapped his hands around his shoulders.

"Barbara is not the only one acting suspiciously..." muttered the smaller man and Edward agreed to his employer with a smoky "indeed".

Even after Oswald had leaned on his cane again, Edward had not yet taken his hands from his shoulders, even curled his fingers thoughtfully on his black tailcoat, stroking the expensive fabric and the flesh underneath, which did not go unnoticed by Barbara, who gave him a teasing wink. She was still standing near them, had watched the Wayne boy's stormy departure with interest.

With a barely audible snort, Edward detached himself from Oswald, stroking his shoulders once more as if to flatten the fabric before he readjusted his own clothes. "We should rejoin our guests."

"Right." 

\---

He tapped the tabletop restlessly, stared at the Freyberg's bodies, their heads falling lifelessly against the backs of the chairs. Again no success. Not a single one of these so-called ruling elites knew anything about the organization! The only thing Edward had learned was that they definitely existed and that they called themselves 'the Court'. Under these circumstances, Barbara would probably have to wait a little longer, but Edward already had a new plan to lure this Court out of the shadows. The solution of this mystery wouldn't be delayed much longer!

He put the remote control on the table before taking off his leather gloves and pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket. When he turned it on, it started ringing immediately - Oswald's name on the display. Apparently it was the sixth time he had tried to reach him. A little alarmed, Edward answered the call.

"Ed?!"

"Yeah, what is it, Oswald?"

Through the cell phone, restless sounds of breathing came to his ear. "Where are you? I was worried when I couldn't reach you."

"I had some business to take care of. But I'm coming home now."

"Okay" A moment of silence. "So... see you soon?"

"See you soon."

He flipped his cell phone shut, a smile spread across his face.

There was one good thing that had come out of the interrogations: he now knew that all his inventions worked. He was ready to carry out his plan. By tomorrow Oswald would realize that he could not trust Shivan Green. But first...

He squinted back to the lifeless Freybergs while he pulled his gloves back over his fingers. First of all, he had to get rid of these bodies.

\---

Oswald sipped from his Merlot with a beginning smile, then put the red wine back on the table. Opposite from him sat Edward. He had been a little surprised when Ed had suggested to him yesterday evening that they should dine together tonight and that he had already bought a red wine for the occasion on the way back home. It had inevitably reminded Oswald of the evening when he had wanted to confess his love to Edward and when his friend had instead met Isabella and stood him up. He was all the more pleased that they were now sitting together at the very generously laid table.

"By the way, I finally got in touch with Gordon today - even though I had to wait half an hour in front of the GCPD for it." And Gordon had had the audacity to tell Oswald to stay out of the matter with the secret organization if his life meant anything to him. Who did he think he was talking to? In fact, since the gala two days ago, Oswald had been worried. He had not told Edward, but the elderly lady who had spoken to him before as a member of the organization had approached him that evening as well. Her name was apparently Kathryn and she had reminded the Mayor again that she would ask for his help very soon. Oswald of course had not put up with her overbearing behavior. He had told the woman - as politely and quietly as it was appropriate for a gala - that he would not be intimidated by her and her organization and that he, Oswald Cobblepot, Kingpin of the Underworld, would not take orders! But the woman hadn't looked impressed, her confident smile stapled to her age-brittle lips.

He hadn't informed Edward about this meeting because he knew that his friend would leave no stone unturned to track down Kathryn and the organization and Oswald wanted to prevent Edward from putting himself in danger. He knew him too well; if the former forensic scientist wanted to solve a mystery, he easily forgot everything else and Oswald wouldn't risk losing the man he loved to an old hag and her cowardly organization.

"Oswald - please." Edward lifted his eyes from his plate, looked across the table at his friend. "Can we not talk about work for a change - and especially not about Jim Gordon?"

"O-of course..." It became quiet, Oswald stared down at his food, cut the tender venison in red wine sauce and chewed with a nervous stomach. While searching for a topic of conversation that was not work-related, he had to think again about the planned evening, which had been ruined by Isabella's appearance. Was this perhaps a sign? Should this be the evening when Oswald finally told his friend that he loved him? Well... he had told him before, but a lot had happened since then. Many things had changed - Edward was single again, for example - but the feelings Oswald had for Ed had not changed. He still loved him and every day that passed without him having the courage to confess to him seemed wasted. He would do it! He would do it now!

"Ed - um - there's something I want to tell you..." His lips trembled and he could not take his eyes off the fine china. He had therefore not noticed that Edward had risen from his seat, was now walking around the table and taking the place to Oswald's right.

The smaller one squinted up, batted his eyelashes confusedly several times when he noticed how close Edward suddenly was, and fumbled nervously with his fingers on the edge of the table. "l... Ed, l..." It was as if a lump was blocking his throat, or as if his vocal cords were glued together.

A shrill squeak escaped him when he felt Edward placing his fingers on his left hand. He peered up, caught Ed's warm gaze. A small, almost mischievous smile hid in the curve of the corner of his mouth.

"I have a surprise for you, Oswald."

"A surprise?" repeated Oswald with bewildered excitement. What could it be that his best friend had prepared for him? No matter what it was, the very thought of it made his cheeks turn red.

"Yes." Ed's eyes sparkled. "It's waiting in the parlor."

The taller one was the first to rise, had ecstatically raised his hands to his chest and waited for Oswald to get up from his seat, grab the bird-headed cane and follow him to the adjoining parlor.

"You... shouldn't have", Oswald breathed in a trembling voice and lowered his eyes bashfully as Edward opened the door for him.

But as soon as he had stepped through the door frame all color was wiped from his cheeks, leaving his face gray, and the saliva dried in his throat. He opened his lips but was too shocked to get a word out. He was also too shocked to look at Edward, just staring with his lids torn open at the two chairs that hadn't been part of the parlor this morning and at Shivan Green, sitting in the chair to Oswald's left, bound and with a gag ball between his lips, a bleeding laceration on his forehead. Between the two chairs stood a simple wooden table, on the surface of which an electrical construction had been placed that resembled a console. On the right, empty chair lay a metal crown, from the tips of which cables ran that connected to the console.

"What is the meaning of this, Edward?"

" _Ta-da_..."

Oswald felt his breath as Edward leaned down to him, whispering the words into his neck. Shortly after, he felt a pain in the back of his head, and then there was only darkness.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be mostly about... 'this' matter. huehuehue


	6. Riddler Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has finally arrived, the day which the Riddler has long been waiting for. But Edward probably wished for Oswald's reaction to be slightly different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance! :D

Chapter 6

**Riddler Begins**

The first thing he noticed was that his wrists were tied. He was sitting on a hard chair. Something was on his head, pressing itself against his skull in several places like suction cups. It painfully reminded him of the helmet he had to wear during his 'treatment' at Arkham. Next to him he could make out strained noises and in front of him the sound of impatient fingers on a wooden surface. With an arrhythmic blink, Oswald wiped the blurred world sharp again before his heavy eyes.

"Ed..." he croaked, having to clear the dry lump in his throat with a single cough before he could continue speaking. "What... happened?"

His best friend was sitting in front of him on a floral-patterned wing chair, tapping his index and middle finger on the smooth surface of a side table, one leg had been crossed over the other and he had taken off his jacket, wearing only his bottle-green waistcoat and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, the top button had been undone, the tie thrown over the back of the chair together with his jacket.

When he heard Oswald's voice, a euphoric grin formed on his lips. "Oh, _wonderful_ \- you're finally awake." He clapped his hands once and then rose from the armchair in an unnatural motion. "Then we shall begin."

"W-with what...? What happened, Ed? I..."

But Edward interrupted him, had lifted the left palm and pointed the index finger of his right hand towards the ceiling. His head was lowered, his eyelids closed, he seemed to focus, much like an actor just before the start of a play. When he raised his head again, opened his eyes, with a broad, dark smile on his lips, he spoke in a voice somewhere between whispers and growls: "What do a dollar bill, a spruce and an envier have in common?"

Oswald narrowed his brows. What was that all about? "Ed, this is no time for riddles. Would you please tell me why I'm tied to a chair," he asked, and still he sounded relatively calm, even though a creeping agitation was slowly taking hold of him.

"If you want to know, answer the riddle." Ed pushed his shoulders through and then asked the question again. "What do a dollar bill, a spruce and an envier have in common?"

Oswald squeezed his eyelids together with a snort, turning his chin while thinking. "The... the color - it's the color - they're all green," he finally replied with cracked words.

Ed painted invisible circles in the air with his index fingers. "And _that_ is the answer."

"I don't understand..." How could the color green explain why he was tied to a chair?!

But Edward made sure that Oswald understood by pointing one hand towards the second chair. At the same time, a muffled sound filled the room and, as Oswald turned his gaze to the right, he saw Shivan Green, a gag-ball between the lips and tears on his cheeks, and at that moment he remembered exactly what he had seen when Edward had led him into the parlor.

"Green as in Shivan Green. He's the surprise I promised you and also the answer to why you're tied up," Ed explained, not making it sound at all like he strapped his best friend on a torture chair and took another man hostage. Instead, he sounded somehow excited and hungry for praise and in his wide open eyes flashed a madness that Oswald knew only too well. "But actually, he is only a small part of the surprise, because...", he spread his arms, "all this is the surprise. All this I have prepared just for you - Oswald."

Oswald's breath became fast and choked and he had to swallow several times to prevent his throat from drying out. "What are you gonna do, Ed?"

"Let us call in our guest of honor for this question," Edward grinned like a show host and then slowly stepped towards Shivan to remove the gag-ball from his head. The teacher gasped before he gritted his teeth in a rage.

"What do you want from me!? I've done nothing to you, Nygma, so just let me go!"

Edward clicked his tongue several times in a lecturing manner, moving an index finger in front of Shivan's nose. "Oswald may call me that, but to you, Mr. Green, I am _the Riddler_." He brought the fingertips of both hands together without the palms touching. "And while we're at it, you still haven't answered my riddle from our last meeting." With dramatic gestures and the passionate emphasis of an actor, he recited the riddle from the dinner five days ago. "I take months to build, seconds to destroy and years to rebuild. What am I?"

"I'm not interested in your stupid riddle! Untie me now, you sick psychopath!"

Edward once expelled the air in indignation and closed his eyelids, shaking his head. "Wrong answer." He strutted back to the armchair, leaned behind the furniture and lifted a doctor's bag made of dark brown leather from the floor, placed it on the upholstery, sprung open the brass press button with a muffled sound and spread the opening apart.

Meanwhile Oswald had started to unsuccessfully pull on his shackles. "Ed... please... tell me what I have done wrong. I'm sure there must be some misunderstanding. We... can talk about it...", he tried with pleading words, his voice resembling a hoarse gasp. He was completely overwhelmed, simply couldn't understand how this situation had come about. Why did Edward suddenly want to hurt him!? What had Oswald done to deserve this treatment?! Yesterday everything had been fine between them! And suddenly Edward knocked him down, tied him to a chair and demanded to be called by an utterly stupid name? Riddler... that sounded as frightening as the villain in a children's comic book.

"Shhh!", Ed admonished with a finger in front of his lips, which appeared apricot in the warm lighting. "Give me just a moment, Oswald. I promise everything will be perfectly clear soon."

While speaking, he had pulled a baton from the leather bag, its handle was covered in black rubber and from its penny-sized tip peeked two small, thorny metal prongs. He hit the baton once in the palm of his hand. "Mr. Green, are you sure you want to stick with that answer?" Spinning the staff in his hand, he strutted closer to the bound Shivan, whose lips had begun to tremble. He could not take his eyes off the weapon in Edward's hand, which looked suspiciously like the illegitimate child of a baton and a tasering gun.

"Listen, friend..." He swallowed. "Riddler, I mean, of course, listen to Oswald and let's talk this over."

" _Wrong answer_ ," Ed repeated with a sinister whisper, then pressed a button that was on the handle of the baton while pressing its horned tip against Shivan's shoulder. There was a loud buzzing, then a flashing. Shivan cried out, threw his head back while his body reflexively tried to escape the electric shock, clapping the back of the chair several times in an uncontrolled and convulsive manner.

Oswald watched with terror-stricken lips. It may have been selfish of him to fear more for his own physical integrity than Shivan's at that moment, but he couldn't help himself. Now that he was on the victim's side, this dark yet playful nature of Edward intimidated him quite a bit.

He was just considering if it was worth trying to scream for help and hope that Olga or some of his guards were still on the property when a loud laugh from Edward turned his attention back to the teacher.

"Your muscles contract because the frequencies of the electroshock are similar to those of your brain," he explained with a satisfied grin. "What does a voltage of 1,000,000 volts feel like?"

"1,000,000 volts?" Shivan gasped half dazed. "Are you planning to kill me?"

Ed raised both brows, then smiled, shaking his head and mockingly lowered his eyes as he hit the baton into his palm. "Did you really go to college, you ignoramus? It is not the voltage that kills a person, but the current. I would have to expose you to at least 1 ampere to kill you, but this baton is only capable of 3 milliamperes. I will not kill you that soon, Mr. Green - that would be rather boring." He once swung the weapon between his thumb and forefinger. "Well - let me ask you again - I take months to build, seconds to destroy and years to rebuild. What am I?"

"I don't know," Shivan cried pleadingly and with wet eyes, obviously not even trying to solve the riddle.

Edward prepared to electrocute him again when, out of a false sense of pity, Oswald shouted the answer into the room. "Trust!" He had known the answer since their dinner five days ago. Could this evening be the cause of Edward's sudden cruelty? Could it be that Edward was still angry because he didn't feel valued enough by Oswald?

For a moment the scene froze before his eyes. Shivan lowered his head between his shoulders fearing further pain, Ed raised his staff threateningly. But then Edward turned his head towards his friend as he lowered the baton with a single snort. Disappointment sparkled in his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that..."

"Ed, if this is about Tuesday, I-"

"It's not!" Edward intervened harshly, seemed offended for a moment before lowering his head and curling the corners of his mouth into a toothless smile. "And since you disobeyed the rules of the game, I will have to punish you for it, Oswald."

Oswald gasped loudly as Edward turned around to walk back to the chair and put his hands in the bag again. He pulled out a roll of duct tape and a pair of scissors, stepping towards Oswald, who pressed himself panicky against the back of his chair.

"If you keep interfering in my conversation with Mr. Green, I'll have to make sure you keep your mouth shut for a while." And with those words, he taped his friend's mouth shut. Oswald's protest turned into a muffled grumble.

Now Edward turned once, swinging on his heel, and threw the duct tape aimlessly into the room, only to instead face Shivan again, who stared at Oswald in panic. "Where were we? Oh, yes - trust." Ed smiled, renewing the Showmaster's mask on his face. "Trust is the foundation of any good relationship - the more problematic is the fact that I absolutely cannot trust you, Mr. Green."

Green remained calm in an attempt to avoid further irritating the Riddler.

"But there are, after all, ways to change that." Ed had clapped his hands together, a euphoric grin on his face. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

The corners of Ed's mouth suddenly dropped, as if he had expected Shivan to guess what he was really after from the little information he had given him. "To prove how much Oswald means to you," he replied with an amused yet threatening growl of words.

A high, surprised sound emanated from Oswald. Did Edward perhaps believe that he and Shivan...

"And to make things not too easy, I've prepared something in advance." Edward pointed to the crown on Oswald's head and the electronic console it was attached to. "You can see what Oswald is wearing on his head. This ring is connected to a device that can send out currents of up to two amperes..."

The explanation was enough to make Oswald panic, he rocked his shackles and screamed unsuccessfully against the duct tape. Tears of effort and despair gathered in his eyes.

"That's right," Edward commented on his friend's fear. "It can kill you, Oswald." He raised an index finger. " _But_ Mr. Green here can prevent that!" A manic laugh escaped his lips.

"You're insane!" shouted Shivan, which amused Ed into a grin, but the slight twitching of his eyebrows revealed that the teacher's sentence had not failed it's effect.

"I'm not _insane_ ," Edward replied with a stern whisper and a wide gesture, his fingers elegantly stretched out. But his resentment didn't last long, as a smug smile now painted itself on his face. "I have a certificate to prove it."

Shivan clenched his jaws, realizing that there was no point in discussing with someone like Edward. He would have to play along if he wanted to get out of this mansion in one piece. "And how exactly can I stop you from killing him?"

"Good question!" praised the Riddler and gave the teacher a thumbs-up before making a sweeping turn on the heel and heading for a corner of the room where something was standing on the floor covered with a black cloth. "Now we come to the fun part." He lifted it up and carried it to the side table next to the wing chair, then pulled the cloth with an ecstatic "Ta-da!" from the device, revealing a small wooden guillotine with an egg timer on top. He grinned proudly and tapped a finger on one of the wooden side beams. "I designed it myself."

"This is sickening..."

Ed turned his head. "You just lack an eye for these things." His gaze fell on Oswald as if to say, 'Unlike you'. But Oswald had no time whatsoever to admire the beauty of this instrument of torture; after all, he didn't know whether this guillotine was intended for him as well - as if death by electrocution wasn't enough.

With a soft groan, Edward dragged the guillotine and side table to Shivan, set it up to his side and then, with a small key, released his right wrist from the shackle to lock it into the guillotine instead. Shivan's pitiful attempt to use the freed hand to grab Edward, was merely smiled at before Ed rewarded the teacher with a single slap with the back of his hand.

"As a football player, I'm sure your right hand is important to you. The question is, is it more important than Oswald's life?"

"W... What?!"

With a smile, Edward reached for a switch that had previously lain on the electronic console between the two chairs and pressed it into Shivan's right hand. "I'll give you one minute to decide whether you want to save your hand or Oswald. If you press this switch, a deadly electric shock will be passed into the ring around Oswald's head, and if you do not press it, at the end of the minute the blade of the guillotine will come loose, driven by a spring, and cut off your hand - the choice is yours." The grin on his lips had grown wider. "Will we hear the sad crackle of a betrayed heart or the sound of a one-handed applause? I wanna know."

Despite the duct tape you could hear Oswald sobbing. His eyes were already red and swollen from crying. Why did Edward do this to him!? Did he really care so little about Oswald that he was prepared to let him die without a flinch? And what for? To prove that he was right about Shivan? What value would that have once Oswald was dead? Who else could he brag about his premonition to then!? It didn't make any sense! It was like a nightmare and Oswald just wanted to wake up!

"Why are you doing this?" Shivan asked breathlessly, staring at the switch between his fingers. "I mean... I thought... I was sure that you..." He looked at Oswald, then up to Edward. "I just can't imagine that you would kill him."

Edward's lips smiled, but his eyes gleamed with disgust for the man in front of him. "You don't think I would kill Oswald?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Shivan shook his head in response.

"Then I guess I'll have to prove to you how serious I am." He reached into the leather bag again and pulled out a kind of remote control. As he pressed the button, the helmet on Oswald's head flashed and he received a mild electric shock that made him sink against the back of the chair with a suppressed scream.

Shivan gasped in horror. Nygma was indeed ready to end Oswald's life without batting an eyelid. He shook his head in bewilderment. "The way you looked at him... I was so sure you have feelings for him...," he murmured - more to himself, but Edward heard him nonetheless.

Growling, he crouched down in front of Shivan and asked, with annoyed irritation, "I beg your pardon?"

Shivan clarified. "I was sure you were in love with Oswald."

A lot of different emotions raced across Edward's face in a matter of seconds and none remained long enough to really be interpreted. In the end, however, a cold, stiff expression lingered and Edward rose again to set the egg timer at 60 seconds. "Your time is running," he said with the shadow of a smile on his lips, then strutted to the wing chair to sit down with a dramatic sigh and cross one leg over the other, fingers intertwined in front of his chest. "Your hand or Oswald's life? How will you decide," he asked in singsong, and then started drumming excitedly with his fingers on the side table to his right, imitating the steady ticking of the egg timer and thus deliberately increasing Shivan's tension.

Oswald had meanwhile recovered from the brief electric shock, although he felt that his face was numb. His eyelids at least seemed to still work, because at Shivan's statement he had torn them wide open and when Ed didn't deny the teacher's suspicion he almost forgot to breathe. But at the same time this only heated up the chaos inside him even more. His head buzzed and a painful clot had formed just below his throat. If it was true and Edward really loved him, why did he do this to him!? It made no sense at all! But if it _was_ true and Oswald did get out of here alive, what then? Would Oswald be happy about the returned feelings? Could he forgive Edward this cruel game with his life? How could he ever trust him again?

But he probably wouldn't have to worry about that anymore anyway, because Shivan turned his head towards him with an apologetic look, the switch still in his hand. The egg timer had meanwhile reached half of its journey.

"Oswald?"

The one addressed closed his eyelids. He knew what was coming, and yet it hit him like a derailed train. 

"You know I like you and... I'm happy you forgave my past behavior, but..."

 _But_.

Shivan lowered his eyes. He couldn't even look Oswald in the eye. _Cowardice_. "I never intended to risk my life for you..."

Instead of looking at the teacher, Oswald now looked at Ed. He seemed to like what he heard, for a disgustingly broad grin lay on his face. So he really wanted to get rid of Oswald? Edward's smile hurt him a thousand times more than Shivan's betrayal...

"I'm so sorry..." whispered Shivan with tear-soaked eyes, but Oswald didn't need his pity anymore. At the very moment that the teacher hardened his grip around the switch and placed his thumb on the red button, Oswald tried one last time to push himself into his restraints, screaming panicky against the duct tape, staring pleadingly in Edward's direction. But his best friend did not help him. He abandoned him. And then he heard the button being pushed down, he heard it as if it was the loudest thing in the world, then a hissing sound that burrowed through the cable and finally... nothing. Nothing happened. A faulty design? Could it be? That would be unusual for Edward.

Shivan pressed the button hectically several more times. His breath accelerated with each press. His gaze glided nervously to the egg timer whose hand had stopped. Did that mean he would not lose his hand after all?

Both men tore open their lids in shock when an ecstatic laugh cut across the room. Edward clapped his hands twice before bringing thumb and index finger together and drawing a line in the air with both hands in a praising manner. " _Wow_! That's exactly what I wanted to see you do, Mr. Green, and you didn't disappoint." He giggled satisfied and then got up from the armchair, pulled a small silver revolver out of his waistband as he stood up, and aimed the muzzle at the point between Shivan's eyebrows. "But there's one thing that still interests me. What was your intention?"

Instead of answering, Shivan looked at Oswald. He was visibly uncomfortable that Oswald was still alive, but at the same time he seemed relieved about it. "Oswald, l...," he started to say, but shrieked and jerked when a shot was fired. Panic-stricken, he inspected his own body, then examined Oswald, but none of them had been wounded, for Edward had only fired a warning shot into the ceiling. A small amount of concrete that had been loosened by the shot trickled down onto Ed's neat parting.

" _Goody_ , I got your attention back," Edward grinned, then lowered the revolver back down to hold it again in Shivan's direction. "Tell me what your intention was."

"My intention for what?!" the teacher gasped desperately. Was there any point in obeying anymore? Wouldn't the Riddler kill him anyway?

With a growl Edward bridged the distance between himself and Shivan, pressed the muzzle of his revolver right between Shivan's eyes. He was convinced that the teacher was deliberately playing dumb. "Your intention for pretending to have feelings for Oswald."

"What are you talking about?"

"Stop playing dumb!"

"I really have no idea what this is about! Me and Oswald are friends. I like him. That wasn't an act!"

Ed clicked his tongue. "If you like him, why did you choose to kill him?"

"Just because I like him doesn't mean I'm willing to sacrifice my life for him - we just got back in touch recently."

"What's that got to do with it?" The minute Oswald got him out of Arkham, Edward had been ready to throw himself in front of a train for him at any moment. "How about we just ask Oswald what he thinks about your feelings?" Ed asked with a sinister grin, then strutted up to his friend, first undoing the duct tape with a single quick rip and finally unlocking the cuffs around Oswald's wrists.

But what he certainly hadn't expected was that his friend immediately jumped up from his chair and punched him in the jaw with a furious roar. Edward went down, dropping the revolver, which was immediately picked up by Oswald, who pointed it now at Ed's face with a growl.

Edward rubbed the hit area with a hissing sound, his lip was bleeding, but that was insignificant at the moment. He raised a hand to calm the situation. "Oswald, calm down."

" **Calm down**?!" yelled Oswald, his whole body trembled with rage like that of an agitated Chihuahua and in his imagination Edward could even see foam at his mouth. "You risked my death and now want me to **calm down**!?"

"Oswald..." Ed now raised his second palm, still sitting on the floor at Oswald's feet. "Your life was never in any serious danger," he affirmed.

"Tell that to the bullet," growled Oswald and pressed the muzzle of the revolver firmly against Ed's forehead, who instinctively closed his eyes.

"I trusted you," Oswald yelled further, water gathered again in his eyes and his voice was accompanied by a soft squeak. "I thought you were my friend! How could you do this to me!?"

"I _am_ your friend, Oswald. It was all just an act. The device that was going to electrocute you was never set powerful enough. But to be absolutely sure you were not to be harmed, I also blocked the cable between the guillotine and the console. I would never allow you to die. Trust me, Oswald."

Shivan cleared his throat. "Oswald, would it be possible for you to loosen my-" A single shot. The Teacher's lifeless body dropped against the backrest before the muzzle of the revolver returned to Edward's forehead. Ed had his eyes wide open - but more out of surprise than shock - staring at Shivan, whom Oswald had shot down without batting an eyelid. Had Edward's plan worked after all? He couldn't prevent the thought from making him happy, which brought a faint smile to his lips.

"At least we seem to have finally come to terms regarding Mr. Green."

"No one turns on me and then gets away with his life." Except for Jim Gordon... and Butch... But at this moment the facts didn't matter to Oswald - it was a matter of principle! Besides, the deaths of these two gentlemen were merely postponed.

"If you had known that there would be no fatal electric shock, Mr. Green might have become suspicious and we might never have known if he was serious about you - you would have wasted your love on him for nothing. It had to look real!"

"My..." The word got stuck in Oswald's throat. Edward didn't really believe that he had been in love with Shivan, did he? But... did that mean Ed had acted out of jealousy? He shook his head inwardly. "How can you still not realize it after all this?"

Edward merely arched his brows in confusion.

Oswald lowered the gun. "Did you honestly believe that I loved Shivan?" His voice was nothing but a disappointed whisper. The fact that Ed did not answer the question was enough for Oswald. He smiled desperately. "My friendship with him was merely an attempt to distract me."

"Distract you from what?"

Oswald tightened his lips, his facial muscles contracted into a strained grimace, his left hand clenched in a fist, his right hand tensed around the revolver. Again. Again he would have to confess to Edward under terrible circumstances. And he would probably be rejected again. But maybe there was some hope, after all Edward's plan actually made a rather jealousy-driven impression. "From my feelings for _you_ , Ed."

Edward gasped loudly, which made it clear to Oswald that his friend had indeed still not believed in the authenticity of his feelings.

He puffed, then drew his lips to a sad smile. "I would have rather told you this at dinner tonight..." He squinted over his shoulder towards the dead Shivan. "Before I knew about your _'surprise'_. But..." He clicked his tongue once, then turned back to Ed and raised the gun again. "Unfortunately, it's too late for that now."

"Oswald, I..." Edward didn't know exactly what he was going to say. Luckily, Oswald stopped him in tearful despair.

"Don't say anything you don't mean, Ed! No more games!" He clenched his quivering jaws, then increased the tension in his right hand, the hand that held the revolver. "Any last words?"

"I did it to protect you."

"Protect me?! From what?! I don't need _that_ kind of protection! You may be my Chief of Staff, but that doesn't give you the right to coordinate my personal life! I decide who I can trust and what's good for me!" He had spoken in a complete rage, trembling with anger and spitting whilst talking.

Edward gritted his teeth quietly, had shamefully turned his eyes away. Oswald was right. He had gone too far. He had been driven by _jealousy_. Yes, he had been jealous of Shivan Green, not because he wanted to spend more time with his best friend and Shivan prevented it, or because he was afraid Shivan would hurt Oswald, but for the simplest reason in the world: he had fallen in love with his best friend.

He had finally admitted it to himself, but now it was too late... To tell Oswald now, when he was about to shoot him, would be unfair. He would take the truth to his grave.

Determined to die for the good of his friend, Edward didn't flinch when he heard the shot, didn't press his eyelids together when a tinnitus rang in his ears, and didn't move again until he heard the muffled sound of the dropped revolver on the floor. He was not dead. Oswald had merely shot past him. He had spared him.

Ed gasped for breath, then glanced up at Oswald, trying to figure out why he had let him live. But he could not find the reason. Oswald's eyes were red and swollen, but an aggrieved anger still burned in his irises and his brows were resolutely knit.

"You didn't kill me - why?"

Oswald pursed his lips, obviously trying to suppress a sob. "Go..." he finally breathed.

"Oswald..."

"I've changed my mind, so just **go**!"

"Very well..." He rose from the ground, threw another quick glance at Oswald, a remorseful glare, an unspoken apology, and then turned towards the exit. But something held him back. He could not leave without at least giving Oswald a hint - it simply wasn't his nature. And so he stopped in the doorway and asked, without turning back to his friend, "Which shot leaves no visible wound on the body, but can still cause excruciating pain?"

"I don't care! Just leave me alone."

And this time Edward did go.

Not until he had heard the front door close, did Oswald allow the weak remorse to roll over him and he sank sobbing into the wing chair, hiding his face with both hands. It had been the right thing to do, hadn't it? Edward had fooled him, tortured him with electric shocks and put him in mortal fear. He couldn't forgive him so easily! At least not yet. He needed time. But in truth, this was just something he told himself. In reality he already wanted to run after Edward, to get him back...

After all, nothing had happened to Oswald eventually and that Edward had tried to kill Shivan for his sake was in his eyes somehow sweet? Obliging? He only wished Ed would have let him in on his plan.

His eyes fell on Shivan and a hiss escaped his thin lips. All because of him. Oswald once tried to have an honest friendship and it ended in the loss of the one person he never wanted to lose. With a sinister determination, he rose from his armchair, hobbled to the revolver that was still on the floor, and picked it up. He checked the number of bullets before firing the two remaining ones unceremoniously and with a steady arm in Shivan's chest. Unsatisfying considering the teacher was already dead, but for Oswald's nerves it was like balm. He was toying with the idea of fetching a pistol from the emergency safe behind his father's round portrait and decorating Shivan with more bullet holes when Olga entered the parlor, a serving tray in her hands. She was startled at the sight of the known dead man and dropped the tray on the ground. Porcelain shattered, coffee ruined the expensive hardwood floor.

"Please clean up this mess," Oswald said coldly and left the room.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... let's talk about something nicer. In the next chapter we'll meet a load of new characters, including Tarquin and Martin! :D Accept this as my gift of appeasement!


	7. What I deserve...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Oswald would prefer to forget what happened last night, Edward is plagued by feelings of guilt. He even begins to doubt whether he deserves Oswald's affection and forgiveness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out shockingly long! ö.ö  
> Be prepared for a devastated Riddler, bad puns and Harvey "Courtesy is my middle name" Bullock!

Chapter 7

**What I deserve...**

He stormed into the Sirens Club without prior notice and found Barbara with a martini in her hand at the bar, which was already crowded at this hour. She was just sensually spreading her lip-gloss-shining lips to enjoy an alcohol-soaked olive from a metal skewer. To her left and right, two gentlemen with clear intentions, from whose primitive desire Barbara drew a diabolical pleasure. 

When she saw Ed lurking at the club entrance, she slowly placed her martini on the counter, slid down from the bar stool onto her silver glitter stilettos with crossed ankle cuffs, and then moved around the bar with sharp eyes. She indicated to Edward that he should follow her through a side door into an adjoining room, which was more or less used as an office - with an upholstered throne that would look good under Oswald's figure as well and a glass desk in front of which stood a less impressive cushioned chair.

Barbara lowered herself onto the throne with dignity, crossed one leg over the other and pressed an elbow on the armrest, curving her fingers which were decorated with long artificial nails. "Since you are here and not with your sweetheart, I assume that your pretty plan for today did not exactly turn out peachy," she concluded perceptively, while a smug smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Ed snorted as he slowly sat down on the upholstered chair in front of the woman, who was trying far too hard to look like a queen. He was too agitated to put on a cool mask, too shattered to pretend Barbara's teasing didn't hit him.

"I hope you haven't forgotten that you still have some unfinished business to attend to, honey - after all, I financed your little outburst of jealousy." When Edward didn't answer, and was actually squinting down on his knees in a depressed manner, the Blonde once batted her long lashes in a strange sub-form of concern. "That bad? Did Ozzy kick you out?

Ed winced his eyebrows - a very definite answer.

"It's almost creepy seeing you like this," she circled an index finger, "with emotions and all." The fact that Ed still didn't react, didn't counter her taunts with an amused threat as usual, made Barbara sigh deeply. "Now stop sulking already - given the way Oswald behaves towards you, I'm sure he won't be mad at you for long. Tomorrow, he'll probably drool over you again." She imitated a love-struck grimace, then waved her hand through the air to underline the silliness of Edward's misery.

Ed knew that. He knew that Oswald would forgive him for trying to kill Shivan. He had known it the moment Oswald had lowered the revolver. A man like Penguin rarely wasted such an opportunity and if someone other than Ed had been sitting in front of him at that moment, he would probably have pulled the trigger. But he had spared him... his mercy was like a token of love. After all that Edward had done to him, after all that Oswald had gone through because of him, he still loved him. That was crazy! Oswald should hate him! Edward _deserved_ to be hated by him! And the worst part was that Ed was sure _he_ would have pulled the trigger in Penguin's place - and that made him feel shameful.

"Just crawl to our dear King Ozzy tomorrow and ask for forgiveness," Barbara continued with a silly giggle.

Ed could do that. He could even go to him right now, confess his love and ask for forgiveness, but a piercing feeling in his stomach held him back. Even if Oswald would forgive his hypocritical behavior, his jealousy, Edward couldn't forgive himself! He could not forgive himself for condemning Oswald for his jealousy of Isabella, only to burn himself out in jealousy of Shivan. He did not _deserve_ to have Oswald forgive him! He did not _deserve_ that Oswald still loved him!

"Let's rather discuss how you intend to get this Court out of the shadows."

"I already have a plan - but I'll pursue it without you."

Barbara opened her eyes in disbelief. "Pardon?!"

"You heard me." The superior smile that was so characteristic for Edward had returned to his lips and made the Blonde shiver with disgust. It seemed as if the man in front of her had suddenly changed his personality - like a snake shedding its skin. 

You could see Barbara's face swaying from shock to anger, her teeth clenching. "Don't you think I'm just gonna let you get away with this, Nygma."

Edward rose from the cushioned chair, pulling something out of the inside pocket of his jacket while still in motion, and threw it across the tabletop towards the Blonde, who loudly gasped when she saw what he was threatening her with. "You will - and that's not all: you will stay out of Oswald's future businesses. Stay where someone with your skills belongs: _behind a counter_."

Clasping the photos between her fingers in desperate anger, Barbara simply allowed Edward to leave the club. Her hands were tied. She should never have trusted that sly weasel!

\---

It was already three o'clock - deepest night, which didn't mean much in a city like Gotham, except that there were even more obscure people on the streets than during the day.

The Riddler had been here in the orphanage for far too long already, pacing restlessly up and down the room, passing Oswald's stone mother and turning in her direction as if seeking advice. He had torn some lilies from the yard, scattered them indiscriminately in the room and also the precious candelabras, which had stood left and right of Oswald's mother, now lay on the ground at Edward's feet like beaten enemies. From the walls green question marks peered down at him. Only one more thing remained to be done. He approached the statue of the woman, stared into her lifeless eyes. In his hands a diamond-wire saw, which he now wrapped carefully around the stone neck.

"He should hate me for my _weak_ outburst of jealousy..." he growled, but could not prevent a sobbing despair from creeping into his words. Yes, that was the right thing to do. Edward would strive to hate Oswald out of love. Hate was simple and uncomplicated. Love was connected with so much more pain and weakness, so many uncertainties. And unlike riddles, there was never _the one_ answer. Love was more like asking if there was a God - something Edward, as a scientist, would always deny, although he would have to admit that there was no proof of his non-existence either. 

An eternity passed in which he simply looked into the eyes of the statue of Oswald's mother and did not move. It was pitiful, pathetic even, but he couldn't do it. He was not able to saw off the head of a stone statue. He simply couldn't bear the thought of how sad Oswald would be if he were to hold the modeled remains of his mother in his arms - how much it would remind him of the day he had actually lost her.

With a loud snort he released the saw from Gertrude's neck and rubbed his gloved fingers over his eyes. His head roared and his chest burned as if poured with acid.

He was startled when he suddenly heard an amused giggle. From behind him? In front of him? Next to him?

_"While we were in love with Miss Kringle, you always made fun of me, but now look at you. You don't know what you're doing anymore."_

"Where are you?" The Riddler spun around in circles, searching, but nowhere was a mirror, and his second, less intelligent self had not materialized freely in the room either. Was he inside him? Was he talking directly from inside his head? "Stay out of this! You're not supposed to be here. _I'm_ in control. _"_

_"And look where that got us."_

"Shut up!" The Riddler clutched his booming temples, squeezed his lids shut.

_"If we had just told him how we feel, you wouldn't have to try so pathetically to push his grudge on you."_

"You are in no position to lecture me! The only reason I'm in control is because you were incapable of accepting your feelings for him, **Ed**!"

_" **Our** feelings, and yes, I admit I was in denial. It was too easy to fall in love with Isabella. But at least **I** didn't hurt Oswald."_

"Maybe not physically, but what about when you reproached him for Isabella like a complete imbecile and left him alone?" The Riddler argued against his less intelligent half and simultaneously pulled a green package out of a duffel bag he had brought with him and carefully placed it in the statue's outstretched hands. He would not behead the stone mother. What he had planned was already quite enough.

 _"How are you going to get him to the jewelry store anyway,"_ Dumb-Ed asked, while the Riddler adjusted the bow on the package one last time and turned the card so that the addressee's name pointed upwards.

"If you're truly in my head, you already know that," he hissed, offended by the fact that his second half was such a retarded loser.

_"Ohh, I know exactly what you're up to - every little detail. I also know that even if you claim that you don't deserve his love, you still hope that he will look behind this farce and save you."_

"That is _not_ true! I have everything planned out..." He would solve the riddle of Gotham's ruler and if Oswald's concern was justified, it might even be the last riddle Edward would solve. But at least he would disappear from the scene with a big bang, with a sparkling show, a riddle hunt like Gotham had never seen before! Of course, a riddle hunt that was prepared in a single night was nothing compared to what he could have accomplished in a whole day or week, but sadly he didn't have the time and probably never would again. It was a shame... but what did one do to solve the biggest riddle of one's life? And while at it, why not make it easier for Oswald to let him go? The Riddler could not afford to be distracted now by something as soft as love. He had more important things to do! He had to prove himself on the Gotham stage! As a flamboyant villain and a feared criminal. Oswald and his idea of true love were better off without him. They would probably only hold back and harm each other...

_"That doesn't sound like **you** at all."_

"What?!"

_"Doesn't that sound more like **me**? I will sacrifice myself for him, I don't want to stand in the way of his true happiness, he would be better off without me? Since when did **you** become the whiner?"_

The Riddler clutched his temples in shock. Dumb-Ed was right! That didn't sound like him! But... but he couldn't get it out of his head!

 _"In the end we are not so different,"_ laughed his second half, which made the Riddler growl loudly. No way! No way he was like that imbecile! He was better! He was smarter! He was superior to him in every way!

 _"What has two eyes and yet cannot see what is right in front of him?"_ it echoed loudly in his skull and no matter how hard he pressed his palms onto his earlobes, the voice pierced through, it shouted at him from inside.

"That riddle was about you," he roared.

 _"Us,"_ replied the voice, which he already no longer knew whether it was his or not. Did his lips move both times? Had his less intelligent half already taken control over his face?!

"Stop it!"

_"At least leave him a souvenir of us - then he'll have something to hold on to when he cries. He looks so fragile when he cries."_

"Quiet!"

_"Something purple - we always liked that color on him..."_

"Shut up!" He sank to his knees, panting, his forehead pressed to the light floor as if the voice of his weaker half was pushing him down.

_"How we wish we could know what his lips taste like before we go."_

Hissing, he huddled up against the floor, jaws achingly clenched.

 _"We want him to forgive us for what we have done to him...",_ whined Dumb-Ed - or was it himself?

A shaky exhalation, breathed words. "Forgive me - I love you..."

A squeak like rubber soles on polished parquet flooring. He jumped up. Someone had been listening.

\---

It was the first time that Oswald had been awake and dressed for work on a Monday morning before his Chief of Staff or Olga came to wake him up. The reason for this was that he hadn't slept a wink anyway. Only an extra thick layer of make-up had been able to hide the black rings under his eyes to some extent, and a strong coffee would hopefully also wash the sluggishness out of his limbs. He rolled his shoulders yawning while putting on the amethyst-decorated cuff links and examined himself one last time in front of the mirror. Black shirt, purple waistcoat, purple-black dotted tie and a black tailcoat with pointed lapels, also black Budapesters. His hair fell in several neat strands from both sides into his forehead and was slightly puffed up at the crown like a bird's crest, his eyes were framed by a subtle amount of dark eye shadow, which lifted the green-blue irises from the otherwise royal pale skin.

But there was also a second reason why he was already up. The same reason that had kept him awake He was nervous about seeing Edward again today for work. He didn't quite know how he was going to behave towards his friend. Was he going to pretend that nothing had happened, hoping not to lose Edward in a stupid fight, or would it be better to talk to him about what had happened? Oswald wanted to know why Edward had actually wanted to kill the teacher, he wanted to know if his hopeful assumption was correct, he wanted to know if Ed had deeper feelings for him. But what if he did? Oswald had never thought beyond a confession of love before.

In addition, Oswald longed to apologize for having thrown his best friend out in anger. Where did Edward spend the night? Oswald had actually hoped Ed would return to the mansion after he had fallen asleep and they would be sitting opposite each other at breakfast today, but he had stayed away. Could anyone blame him after what Oswald had said? Could anyone blame Oswald for getting so furious? Actually, Edward was the one who should apologize. But if Oswald was honest with himself, he didn't need an apology, because one thing had become perfectly clear in the past night hours: he had forgiven Edward. Perhaps he had from the very beginning not been nearly as angry with him as he should have been. That he had lied to him, that he had knocked him out, that he had given him an electric shock and put him in mortal fear, that he had not given any value to Oswalds own judgment about Shivan - all forgiven. Just like that. Just because it was Edward. That was crazy, wasn't it?

He smiled. Others would probably laugh at him for that and call him a soft sentimentalist, a cheesy romantic and naive nutcase, but that didn't bother him. To hell with those people! To hell with anyone who wasn't Edward!

There were two knocks against the leaning door of the dressing room. Olga never knocked, which left only one conclusion for Oswald. Immediately, a joyful grin of excitement poured onto the his thin lips. He stretched his back and lightly pushed his hips outwards before whispering an ecstatic "Come in" towards the door.

But the corners of his mouth immediately dropped down again as he looked into the cramped mug of Tarquin Stemmel, his Deputy Chief of Staff, instead of Edward's face.

"I've been looking for you, Mr. Mayor. Good to see you're done already. If you'd like, I can go over today's schedule with you now," he spoke in his typical naive business manner and then opened a leather folder that he had been carrying under his arm. Tarquin was ambitious and industrious, but he had no idea who Oswald really was, no idea what Oswald was capable of and what he had done to get into his present position. And even if he had read the newspaper articles and heard the rumors, Tarquin had obviously decided for himself to ignore their information. He only worked for Oswald Cobblepot, the Mayor of Gotham, but not for Penguin, the Kingpin of the Underworld, and Oswald had the tiring feeling of having to make sure that Tarquin could continue this self-deception, so he never said a word about illegal activities in his presence.

And the fact that he had to pay attention to what he said around Tarquin made most of the sentences the Deputy Chief of Staff heard from the Mayor sound irritated or sneering or a mixture of both.

"What are _you_ doing here - where's Edward?", Oswald asked with an annoyed hiss, already feeling behind his frontal lobe the pain that would inevitably follow spending a whole day with milk-faced Tarquin.

The dark blue eyes of the Deputy Chief of Staff detached themselves in irritation from the folder in his hands and he made a stunned grimace before asking, "Hasn't Mr. Nygma informed you, sir?"

"Informed me of what?"

Tarquin looked visibly uneasy. He shifted his weight, tapped absently on the folder's leather cover and drew his brows together. "He called me last night to tell me he wants _me_ to support you as Chief of Staff for the coming days. He said he had something important to take care of and that he wasn't sure how long it would take. Didn't he tell you?"

Oswald lowered his eyes to the ground, speechless, which was enough of an answer to Tarquin.

He wrinkled his nose. "Outrageous. Such a behavior is grounds for dismissal," he snorted and even people who didn't know him would have noticed the hopeful sparkle in his eyes. Tarquin would more than welcome the opportunity to replace Edward forever as Mayor Cobblepot's Chief of Staff.

Oswald probably should have expected Edward to distance himself from him after he had thrown him out so aggressively yesterday - after all, Ed could not have known that the otherwise so vengeful Penguin had already forgiven him. But somehow he had still lived under the illusion that they could carry on as normal. After all, what was a little attempted murder among best friends?

"Are you listening, Mayor Cobblepot?" Tarquin eventually asked, tearing Oswald from his thoughts.

He had not been listening. " _Of course_. Where do we start?"

It was clear that Tarquin had talked about something quite different beforehand, for he flinched back in an overwhelmed state and peered down into the folder while clearing his throat. "We..."

But Oswald did not let him have his say. "On second thought, I'd like to call Edward and ask him why he hasn't informed me of his absence."

"Understandable. Take your time. I'll be waiting for you downstairs, Mr. Mayor."

As soon as Tarquin had left the room, Oswald pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and dialed Edward's number. It rang. Restlessly he paced up and down the room as his heartbeat accelerated with every new ringing. Then there was a crackling sound. Oswald opened his lips, but in the next moment had to realize that it was only the answering machine greeting him.

_"I am unable to answer the phone right now... "_

He sighed sadly and was about to flip the phone shut again when the voice of his best friend, distorted by the small speakers, added something else.

 _"If it's you, Oswald, meet me at the hour of the day when even an armed robbery right in front of his eyes won't let Harvey Bullock reach for his badge."_ After this, the mailbox beeped. But instead of leaving a message, Oswald flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket. A riddle, of course. Only Edward Nygma made even a riddle out of his disappearance after an argument. Couldn't it be easy with Ed for once? Oswald smiled. If it were easy, it wouldn't be Edward.

And so Oswald brooded over the riddle. A time of day when Bullock simply ignored criminals? Although he had known Bullock for longer than Jim Gordon, the cynical, lackadaisical detective - who by now filled the role of police captain - had never interested him enough for him to know his daily routine. Oswald had also only allowed Harvey to be the new police captain in order to tie him, and thus automatically the much more dangerous Jim Gordon, closer to his person, while at the same time taking advantage of the fact that Harvey lacked ambition and vision and that the GCPD under his leadership was therefore much too lazy to stand in the way of Penguin's underworld business. At the same time, however, the Mayor's choice had preserved the appearance of being interested in the city's well-being by promoting a long-time Gotham detective to captain instead of choosing someone from another city. 

"The lunch break, perhaps? Or shift's end...", muttered Oswald as he made his way down to the lounge. Lunchtime seemed to make more sense to him - after all Edward referred to _one hour_ of the day. But even if Ed really meant lunchtime, _where_ would Oswald meet him anyway? Ed could not possibly have unintentionally omitted the meeting place from his message. 

As he entered the lounge, Tarquin was sitting at the coffee table with a cup of tea, one leg crossed over the other. But as soon as the Mayor entered, he immediately stood up and put the cup down on the table top.

"Did you manage to contact Mr. Nygma?"

"No."

A slight smile played in the corner of Tarquin's mouth, though he tried to make an understanding appearance with his brows lowered. "I'm very sorry. But perhaps you can get in touch with him later, or he calls you back. Shall we start with the day's schedule then?"

"Which shot leaves no visible wound on the body, but can still cause excruciating pain?"

Tarquin blinked perplexed. "P-pardon?"

"That was the last thing Edward said to me yesterday. I am not quite sure what the answer is." Oswald's gaze cowered thoughtfully on the ground before catching Tarquin's eyes. "What do you think the answer is?"

"I'm not really talented at solving...," the Deputy Chief of Staff began with audible discomfort, but Oswald interrupted him with a raised palm.

"Give it a try. "

"As you wish. Um... a shot that doesn't leave a visible wound... I can't promise it's right, but I immediately thought of that little winged boy with the bow." He drew an invisible bow into the room, tensing the equally invisible string.

"A little winged boy..." Oswald muttered confusedly before it dawned on him. "Cupid!"

"Exactly! That was his name. And the arrows don't leave any wounds because they are love arrows," Tarquin explained further, nodding as if to approve to himself.

"But if they are arrows of love, where does the pain come from?"

Tarquin shrugged his shoulders. "Unrequited love, perhaps?"

"Yes... that might fit..." Oswald chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. Now the only question was how to understand the riddle in relation to him and Edward. Whose love was unrequited? Oswald's? Or Edward's? In the latter case, that would mean that last night Ed had tried to indirectly confess his love to Oswald. In the former, Edward would have made fun of his best friend's feelings. Considering that Oswald had confessed his love to Ed just a few minutes earlier and therefore it wouldn't be unrequited love, only the first one made one hundred percent sense, unless maybe...

Unless Edward believed that Oswald's love had turned to hate after yesterday's events. It would be all the more important that he finally got in touch with him.

But he would have to postpone brooding over the meaning of the riddle, because suddenly there was a loud knock on the front door and when Oswald opened, a single policeman stood on the threshold, immediately ripping his cap off his head in humility when he saw the Mayor in front of him.

"Mr. Mayor, forgive me for disturbing you at this early hour."

"How can I help you?" Oswald's heart beat loudly, drowning out even the voices in his head, which in a chaotic verbal exchange predicted that something had happened to Edward.

"You are the founder of the Kapelput Orphanage."

"Yes." He was almost relieved that it wasn't about Ed, after all.

"Last night, the orphanage was broken into. Nothing was taken, but the top floor was vandalized and something was left behind, addressed to you."

Oswald got startled. "The top floor?!" The floor where the statue of his mother was?!

\---

The candelabras had been thrown to the floor, lilies were scattered around the room and the walls were smeared - with green question marks. But to Oswald's amazement and deep relief, no harm had been done to the statue of his mother; instead, a green package had been placed in her outstretched hands.

When Oswald thought about it more carefully, the room looked just devastated enough that the police had to consider it necessary to inform him about it as founder of the orphanage. That and the green question marks on the walls were enough to let Oswald know who the culprit was. But what was Ed up to? At least he didn't seem to be angry with Oswald, otherwise he would hardly have spared his mother's statue.

"Mr. Mayor? Shall I cancel your nine o'clock meeting?" Tarquin appeared restless and impatient since their arrival at the orphanage, constantly peering at his watch or checking his mobile phone.

"Do that."

With his mobile phone at his ear, Tarquin left the small room on the upper floor, went into the hallway to make a phone call. Now Oswald was alone with the policeman, who held him back uncertainly as the Mayor approached the statue carrying the package with a determined glare.

"Th-the package must be examined first - it could be a bomb."

"I doubt that very much," Oswald said, plucking at the red ribbon which had a little card attached to it - a card with his name on it. "It is addressed to me anyway - I will open it."

"Sir, I could get into trouble if-" the policeman started with a high-pitched voice, only to be stopped in his speech by Oswald's raised palm.

"What is your name?"

"P-Parker, Mr. Mayor, sir."

Oswald smiled convincingly. "Parker, if anyone asks, I simply disregarded your _clever_ instructions." Whilst speaking, he had drew the ribbon open; the package fell apart like a house of cards, revealing a piece of paper not bigger than a matchbox.

A quiet snort escaped his lips while reading, for the note contained nothing more than a childish pun. _Where do penguins keep all their cash?_

"Seriously!?", he hissed and then sighed loudly while rolling his eyes. What was that supposed to tell him?

"Huh? What does the note say?", the policeman asked in a youthful curiosity, came a few steps closer to Oswald, but still kept a respectable distance - it was difficult for Oswald to tell whether this was out of fear or respect.

"Where do penguins keep all their cash," recited Oswald, raising his eyebrows in the incredulous indignation of a father who has to evaluate his son's stick-man portrait.

Parker giggled as if he had never heard anything funnier. "In a snow bank!" he then replied with a proud grin.

"In a snow bank...," Oswald repeated in a stunned exhalation, briefly closing his eyelids as if the answer was causing him physical pain. Why all this effort if Edward just wanted to ask him an idiotic riddle at the end? Did he want to make fun of Oswald? Wasting his time? Was this a very strange form of revenge? Well, it certainly was no apology...

Parker thoughtfully led a hand to his lips. "I wonder what the intruder was trying to accomplish by this..."

"Just a childish prank," Oswald claimed with a fake smile, then limped over to the policeman and patted him on the shoulder twice. "Nothing that requires further investigation. _Do you understand?_ "

"Um..." Parker squinted through the vandalized room. "Are you sure?"

"I have not a single doubt. And if you treat this little intrusion here the way a silly boy prank is supposed to be treated, I know who'll get a generous gift very soon, _Parker_." The twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable, and Parker didn't seem to be reluctant to the prospect of a little cash injection - no wonder, given the poor payment for this ungrateful police work.

"If you say so, Mr. Mayor."

On his way to the door, Oswald glanced at the note between his fingers once more. Edward would never go to the trouble of arranging all this just to taunt him with a bad joke, would he? What if there was more to the pun? "Snow bank... snow... bank," he muttered several times. "The hour of the day when even an armed robbery right in front of his eyes won't let Harvey Bullock reach for his badge..." The answer tightened around his chest like a scratchy rope, making him gasp loudly. A bank robbery at lunchtime - and Oswald was supposed to meet Ed there. But which bank?

That Tarquin re-entered the room at that moment was like a sign for him. "Tarquin, I want you to find out if there's a bank nearby run by someone named 'Snow'."

The Deputy Chief of Staff frowned. "What purpose would this information serve?"

"Sheer curiosity - _do it fast_." His voice had a threatening undertone mixed with squeaky indignation.

Tarquin, stunned, arched his eyebrows, but then left the room again with his mobile on his ear.

At the same time, Officer Parker approached the Mayor's back. "Sir, I have one last question..." He tapped his fingertips on a small notepad while he spoke. "If you want this break-in to be overlooked, what should happen to the eyewitness?"

"There's a witness?!" Oswald had to prevent Edward's criminal activity from coming to light at all costs - even if it meant taking out someone who couldn't keep his eyes to himself. Why had Edward been so careless? You could almost get the impression he wanted to get caught! If he wanted to lead Oswald to a certain place, he could have just given him the address or even the riddle without breaking into his orphanage - but Edward had always had a flair for the dramatic.

"Take me to this witness."

\---

It was strange, but Oswald felt uncomfortable at the thought of having to eliminate this child. But the reason was not necessarily that it was a child, but that he felt almost something like empathy for him. For this curly-headed boy who stood in the courtyard among other orphans who giggled while throwing his backpack to each other over his head. Oswald watched the whole thing from a window in the common room, inwardly rooting for the child, and snorted as a larger boy approached the curly-headed boy from behind and pulled his underwear up with a jerk.

"You – Old Lady, could you come here for a second," Oswald asked an age-gray nurse who had passed him at that moment. He pointed out of the window at the bullied boy, who in the meantime had given up trying to reach his bag and instead took off with his arms crossed and his lower lip furiously pushed forward. "Who is this boy?"

"Oh..." The nurse lowered her eyelids in pity. "This is Martin."

"Why are they bullying him?"

She shrugged her shoulders, but still had an answer. "It could be because he doesn't speak."

"He doesn't speak?" Oswald repeated in surprise.

The nurse shook her head. "No. He communicates mainly with the notepad around his neck."

Oswald could easily imagine that this alone was more than enough to encourage the other children to bully him. Martin was different and being different was like holding a target. Oswald had learned this firsthand.

He left the building towards the courtyard, stepped outside in time to see the boy pouring something over a pile of stacked backpacks, and on a closer look he realized that he was holding a gasoline canister in his hands.

"Martin? That's your name, isn't it? Can you come here for a minute?"

The boy nervously drew his brows together at first, but still took the few steps to Oswald. Perhaps he was worried about being scolded by the unknown man.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The answer came in form of a picture on the pad Martin wore around his neck: a fire.

Oswald pressed his eyelids together with a smile. He liked the way this boy was thinking.

"If you do something like that, they'll know it was you. Maybe I can help you get revenge without getting caught. What do you say?"

Martin nodded twice, eyes widened in curiosity.

Oswald lifted the corners of his mouth contentedly, suddenly feeling a strange sensation in his chest that he could not yet quite place. It was a strange mixture of pressure, hope and warmth.

"Excellent, but in exchange I would have to know something from you." He bent down to the boy and put one hand on his shoulder. "I was told you saw who broke into the orphanage last night, is that true?"

A nod.

"I was also told that you wouldn't tell anyone what you saw."

No reply. Instead, the boy stubbornly pulled his lips together and lowered his eyebrows.

For Oswald, however, that was enough of an answer. The smile on his lips grew wider. "Per-haps...." He turned his chin very suggestively. "In exchange for your silence, he promised you a great gift."

Martin flared his nostrils - that was also enough of an answer.

"Listen, Martin, this man is a friend of mine. And if you know anything about what he's up to, if you've overheard anything, it would help me a lot if you told me."

He shook his head. That must have been a pretty impressive bribe.

Oswald pinched his eyelids together and then sighed resignedly. "Whatever Ed promised you, I'll double his offer." Like a businessman, he reached out his hand to the child. "Do we have a deal?"

At first he seemed reluctant, but finally Martin pushed his slender shoulders through and returned the handshake with a grip that was surprisingly firm for a child. Oswald felt an unaccustomed pride swell up inside him and attributed it to the fact that he was pleased that someone as harassed as Martin was still so strong and confident. Oswald himself had only rediscovered his self-confidence under Fish Mooney, and even today the old self-doubts of his childhood still occasionally dug themselves back to the surface.

"Now be a good boy and tell me what you heard and saw last night."

Martin took the pencil off his pad and began to scribble eagerly. When he finished and turned the drawing in Oswald's direction, Oswald raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was a simple stick figure with a round hat and a broad grin, from which two speech bubbles grew, both of which said "We have to be at the jeweler's at 6," but were drawn differently. While the first was drawn in a strikingly squiggly manner, the second appeared more angular.

Oswald winked his eyelids in confusion. _"We?"_ If Martin's speech bubble variations were not simply a creative outburst, Edward had apparently had a conversation with himself and had probably even taken on different roles. But which? Ed, and? _The Riddler_ , maybe? Did Edward's embodiment of this Riddler personality extend that far? Or maybe he had simply had an assistant, or he had fallen into megalomania and now spoke of himself in the plural (in Gotham this was as unusual as a man wearing a hat).

Whichever of these was ultimately true, the most important thing about Martin's picture was probably the mention of Edward's last whereabouts.

"He wanted to be at a jeweler's at 6..." Oswald pondered, but a faint tug on his sleeve drew his attention again to the boy in front of him. Martin looked at him waiting, then pointed behind himself to the other children playing in the courtyard.

"Oh, of course," Oswald smiled, but then crooked his head apologetically. "I'm afraid I must find my friend first, _but_..." When Martin sulked, he put one hand on his small shoulder. "I'll come back and then we'll continue our deal, all right?" He winked slyly, which made the child happily lift the corners of his mouth. A chaste darkness glimmered in Martin's eyes.

As if to seal their mutual pact one last time, they shook hands once more. Oswald felt Martin secretly hand him a folded piece of paper before he nodded goodbye and ran away.

On his way out through the metal gate, Oswald unfolded the small note, which showed two waffles of ice cream - probably the double bribe. He grinned. "That can be arranged."

Just as Oswald was about to get into the limousine, Tarquin rushed after him. "Mr. Mayor, I found out there's indeed a bank in Gotham run by a woman named Charlotte Snow."

Oswald nodded approvingly, pursing his lips. "Very well, that satisfies my curiosity. Please give the name to the driver."

Tarquin did as ordered, giving the name and address of the bank to the chauffeur before turning back to the Mayor. "Do we have business with this bank, sir?"

"No, not that I know of. And by the way: You can return to City Hall without me. There is some place I have to be - and I'll need the car for that, so take a cab."

"Um, Mr. Mayor, but you have meetings with..."

Oswald tapped Tarquin twice on the chest. " _Be a darling_ and cancel all my commitments for today, yes?" Without waiting for an answer from his Deputy Chief of Staff, he got into the limousine and drove away.

Tarquin was left speechless on the side of the road. How did Mr. Nygma always manage to force this headstrong bird to work?

\---

But Oswald did not immediately drive to the bank. Instead, he instructed his driver to pass the nearest jewelry stores, and when he saw two police cars parked in front of one, they pulled up right next to it so Oswald could take a closer look at the crime scene.

He did not even have to step through the shattered glass door to see that he was in the right place. On some display cases inside the shop, green question marks had also been painted and a trail of blood in the middle of the shop, next to which was a small white sign with a black 3, revealed that someone had died here. Next to the blood trail was an abandoned shotgun on the floor. Edward had possibly been caught by the owner or a security guard with this shotgun and therefore killed him.

Now it was too late. It hadn't even been necessary to bribe the policeman at the orphanage. If they didn't already do so, with all the evidence available, it certainly wouldn't take the GCPD long to target Edward as a suspect. Of course this would also fall back on Oswald, after all Ed was his Chief of Staff and he would have to answer publicly for his actions, but he was much more worried about the possibility of the police catching his friend and bringing him back to Arkham. Edward was always far too sure of his actions and the longer he was able to fool the police the more likely was his arrogance to become his undoing again.

"Well, well, well, speak of the devil, and he arrives in the form of a limping momma's boy." Oswald squeezed his eyelids in annoyance before turning to look at the gloating face of Harvey Bullock. Next to him was Jim Gordon, with his customary suffering smile on his lips.

"I heard you took over as captain after Barnes' little internship on the criminal side of Gotham. But when I see you here at such an insignificant crime scene, it must have been a silly joke," Oswald said with a smug grin. "But _wait_ , I forgot that _as Mayor_ **I** made that decision to promote you to captain. Do you think I should reconsider whether there might be somebody better suited for the job who smells less like takeout?"

Growling, Harvey wrinkled his nose and had already clenched one hand into a fist when Jim soothed him with a hand on the shoulder. "Let it go, Harvey." He now turned to Oswald with a frown. "Do you have a particular reason to be at this crime scene, Oswald?"

"An 'I'm all chummy with the perpetrator' reason maybe?" Harvey jibed with a sneering glance.

Oswald snorted dramatically. "Maybe I just wanted to take a closer look at the lousy work of our police force." He winked at Harvey. "Apparently, the new leadership isn't paying off."

"You son of a-!", Captain Bullock began furiously, but his fist remained in the air. Forensics around them had paused in their work, looking tense at the police captain, who was about to punch the Mayor.

"I would think twice about that," Oswald said with a smug grin. "But thinking was never your strong suit anyway."

Instead of bursting again, a faint smile carved into Harvey's lips and he only lowered his fist to grab Oswald by the collar of his coat instead and pull him closer. His voice was just a menacing breath as he spoke. "Don't ya think you and Nygma can get away with this just 'cause you bought your way into the mayor's chair."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and - just so you know - there was no need to buy myself into anything."

"Of course not..." In feigned harmony, Harvey released Oswald from his grip, who then indignantly straightened his wrinkled clothes. "And surely you'll be more than happy to come down to the precinct with us to tell us where you or Nygma were between 5 and 7, won't you, Mr _. Mayor_?" He said the last word in a form of exaggerated politeness that was rather mocking.

"I think I have better things to do - but thank you for the invitation. Gentlemen, good day to you both."

Harvey smiled. "That wasn't an invitation. I'm gonna enjoy this..." And with this sentence he pulled his handcuffs off his belt and made Oswald turn around with brute force. "Oswald Cobblepot, you are under arrest on suspicion of accessory to the murder of the jeweler Andrew Winston."

Oswald clenched his jaws. "You have absolutely no proof that I was even here!"

"We'll discuss that at the precinct."

In desperation, he turned to Gordon. "James! Will you just let your demented partner arrest an innocent man?!"

But Jim just gave Oswald a tired look, then followed Harvey out to the car, where the Captain forced the arrestee into the back seat, visibly enjoying being particularly rough.

\---

"Well, look what we found in your coat," Harvey grinned confidently and held a transparent plastic bag in front of Oswald's nose, inside which was a diamond-studded necklace. "Strange, but among other things, such a necklace was stolen from the jewelry store. Care to explain, Penguin?"

Oswald narrowed his brows in confusion. "I have no idea how it got there. Why would I be so stupid and show up at a crime scene with a stolen necklace?!"

Harvey stretched out his arms in the comfort of a cop who had already solved the case. "Maybe you jerk off to it - _I don't care_. In the end, it doesn't matter 'cause this," he shook the evidence bag, "is more than enough to put your bony ass behind bars."

Oswald swallowed a dry lump. How the hell had that necklace ended up in his coat?! Could it have been there from the beginning? Had Ed planted it on him while Oswald was asleep? No, he had checked the pockets at the estate before he put the coat on (to avoid taking a gun or a knife to the orphanage). But that would mean that the necklace must have been slipped to him later and the only people who could have done that were Detective Parker and Tarquin.

He tore open his eyelids. No, there was a third person who had had the opportunity!

Since the knock on the front door that morning, Edward had lured him into a cleverly constructed trap. The break-in at the orphanage was to take Oswald to Martin, who happened to be in cahoots with Edward. He had told him deliberately about the jewelry store and possibly slipped him the necklace during the conversation because Edward knew exactly that Oswald would then drive to the crime scene. But how could Ed be sure that Bullock and Gordon would be there? Perhaps he had also set a trap for them to meet Oswald at the right time - and all the gears had meshed perfectly!

But what exactly was Edward's goal?

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we will enjoy some ice cream! ;)


	8. Riddles, fire, more riddles, singing fruits and the exposure of the Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Oswald is being held by Harvey and Jim, one riddle after another arrives at the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, the chapter has turned out far too long... ...and unfortunately, there is yet no ice cream in it. That'll have to wait until next week :(

Chapter 8

**Riddles, fire, more riddles, singing fruits and the exposure of the Court**

"So, Penguin, you gonna tell me where Nygma is?" Harvey leaned over the table until Oswald could smell his thick burrito breath. "Or do I have to beat it out of you?" The slight smile on his lips and the excited twinkle in his eyes betrayed how Bullock wanted to grab Oswald and press him against the next best wall so that he could make friends with his fist.

But it wasn't that easy to scare someone like Penguin. He confidently raised the corners of his mouth, tilted his face slightly to the side and blinked provocatively. "If afterwards you'll be a good cop and fill out the paperwork explaining why it was necessary to attack _the Mayor_ , be my guest."

Harvey growled. Now that he was captain he hated all that paperwork even more. "Could be worth it," he replied nonetheless in a hostile whisper.

They just stared at each other, neither of them said another word. Oswald knew Harvey was bluffing. Even a dumb-ass like him had to know that beating up the Mayor didn't go down well.

"So you'd rather shut up, huh?" Harvey muttered, brows lowered in a threatening manner.

Oswald tilted his head to the side, smiling. "I have the right to an attorney."

If that was even possible, Harvey's face had become harder with that one sentence. Totally outraged, like a man who had lost all his money at poker despite a Full House, he slammed his hand on the metal table in the interrogation room. But before he could do or say anything else, there was a knock on the door and he turned away from the handcuffed man with an feral sound to step into the hall, leaving the door ajar which gave Oswald the opportunity to listen. 

"Another one?! How many was that now - five?! Doesn't that freak ever get tired?"

"Did you get anything out of Oswald?" Jim asked with a hopeless sigh.

"Nah, our _honorable Mayor_ wants to keep his beak shut. You contacted Fox yet?"

"On his way. Let _me_ try to talk to him."

" _Ohh_ , ya got some trick I haven't seen before, boy scout?"

"Perhaps," Gordon replied with a cheerful swing in his voice before the interrogation room door was pushed back open and Jim stepped into Oswald's field of vision. With a faint sigh, he sat down at the table in front of the handcuffed man. Harvey had also entered the room, but stopped right by the door and stared broodingly at a note that Gordon had probably given him.

"Would you like a coffee?" he offered Oswald, barely separating his jaws because he was wearing his typical suffering smile again, which always seemed as if he had only recently learned the emotion 'joy'.

"Stop the good cop act, James," Oswald replied tiredly. He didn't have the time now to give Gordon the ever-needed feeling of being a righteous cop - and not a smug hypocrite with a badge who hadn't yet won the battle against his true nature. What good friends they could be if Jim would finally step over his shadow and admit to himself that he didn't hate Oswald as much as he always pretended to.

Jim clicked his tongue thoughtfully several times and then propped his forearms on the table. "You know what I don't understand, Oswald, what's in it for you?"

Oswald raised his eyebrows, which caused Jim to become more specific.

"It's not like you to be involved in something so crazy - not unless it benefits you somehow. And I don't see that benefit here..." Jim shook his head in a very telling way. "In fact, it's actually quite damaging to you."

"It's wine," Harvey suddenly intervened, and when Oswald and Jim turned to him simultaneously, he approached the table and allowed Jim to peek into the note he had looked at so insistently before. " _When young, I am sweet in the sun. When middle-aged, I make you bold. But when old, I am valued the most. What am I?_ The answer's wine."

Jim rose in a single movement, hurrying tightly in the direction of the door. "I'll tell Alvarez to locate all the wine stores within 60 miles around City Hall - maybe this time we'll get there before he gets away with the loot."

"60 miles around City Hall?" Oswald asked in surprise.

"Don't ya act all clueless," hissed Harvey, leaning his upper body over the tabletop. "First the little electronics store, then the bank, the gallery, the restaurant, the jewelry store, and now a fucking wine store? What's next - Wayne Enterprise? Is this some kind of fucked-up game how many buildings you can rob in a day? 'Cause I don't get it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," hissed Oswald. Could somebody please tell him about all these things he's supposed to be involved in?

"Lemme jog your memory..." And with these words Bullock disappeared from the interrogation room for a moment, only to return a few seconds later with a thin folder on his arm. "Electronics store, which, by the way, used to be called 'Grid Dweller' before your buddy had his fun - bank - gallery - restaurant and last but not least, the jewelry store." At every break, he'd slammed a photo in front of Oswald. "Memories back?"

Oswald pulled up the pictures one by one. The scenes depicted all looked completely different, sometimes it seemed as if only vandalism had been committed, sometimes a part or the whole building had been blown up, fortunately there was blood in only two of the five pictures; but they all had one thing in common, green question marks on walls or objects. It was obvious that Edward had started at the electronics store, because he had taken the liberty of switching off so many letters from the blinking sign which read 'Grid Dweller' that now one could only read 'Riddler' - a neon sign for the beginning of his show, the birth of a new villain, independent, extravagant and with his own name. 

But why exactly did he do this all of a sudden? And why did he go for this particular selection of buildings? And if he really wanted to pin all this on Oswald to punish him (or whatever), why did he leave his trademark everywhere? Why involve Oswald in his crimes, when he apparently wanted to make his own name with exactly these deeds? These deeds, which still seemed completely random and aimless - but knowing Ed, they did have a purpose, but he wouldn't reveal that until the Grande Finale.

"Ed... what are you planning...", he breathed barely audible while he took a last look at the pictures and then pushed them away with narrowed lids.

"So you're tryin' to tell me you've **never seen these buildings before**?" Harvey was audibly upset. He didn't have time to play Oswald's game. The pressure of the Captain job was killing him - without Jim, he would probably have gone crazy by now. Since 4 o'clock - 4(!) o'clock in the morning - Nygma kept the whole GCPD on their toes, sent them on the sickest scavenger hunt in the world, from A to B, and so far they had always been too late. In his bank robbery alone, Nygma had already captured an eight-figure sum - and there seemed to be no end in sight.

The fact that they had caught Oswald in front of the jewelry store had been their first and only success so far. _'I am a man who holds a high position. Who shows two faces to all those he rules. Both, a criminal and a politician. Look into my pockets and you’ll find a pressured King.'_ With this riddle, Nygma had sent them after Oswald. The 'pressured King' had alluded to a diamond - as Fox had correctly suspected. But what good did Cobblepot do them now!? The envelope in which the riddle about the Mayor had been placed had been labeled 'shortcut'. How could Cobblepot be a shortcut if he supposedly knew nothing about Nygma's plans?!

"I can't help you," Oswald said after pondering for a while. Of course, he could tell Harvey and Jim where Edward would be at lunchtime, but then he couldn't show up there himself. And he wanted to show up! What was Edward thinking, involving him in his crimes without asking? Worse than that, to frame him for his crime and let him walk right into the trap! Not only did he have to deal with Harvey and Jim now, this arrest might not go unnoticed by his constituents! How many people would still support him if they believed that their Mayor, in collaboration with his Chief of Staff, had killed an innocent jeweler? He could hang up his office! Was that what Ed wanted?! He would somehow free himself from this situation and meet Edward at the Snow-Bank at noon and then... yeah... then what? He wasn't 100% sure what he would do then. Talk to Ed? Ask him what the hell he was thinking? Why Oswald deserved to be treated by him like that - to be deceived by him like that, to be betrayed by him?! Did their friendship mean nothing to Edward anymore?! And why so suddenly? What had last night caused in him?

Oswald wanted to cry and scream at the same time... Couldn't he just once have something nice and keep it?

He shot out of his thought-prison as Harvey grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the chair without any effort. He clasped the Captain's paws with a gasp, fidgeting with his feet, seeking hold in the air. Tears of exertion gathered in his eyes and the color drained from his already pale cheeks, leaving an unhealthy gray that turned to a cool violet towards his lips. 

"Now ya listen real closely, Penguin, you may not care, but 'cause of your buddy, there could be someone else dying out there right now, and if I find out that you knew where to find him all along and didn't tell us, you gonna wish you were still massaging Fish's feet..."

A squeak. The door was opened. "Harv!"

As Harvey was pulled away from him, Oswald gasped loudly, coughing scratchily and clinging to the table with weak limbs. His vision was a little blurred like during a dive, and it took a moment before he realized that Jim had come to his aid, pressing his partner admonishingly against the wall of the interrogation room.

"He knows something," Bullock justified his actions.

"We don't know that! We don't even know if he has anything to do with this."

"Really? Have you sided with that shitty little rat now?!"

"I'm on _your_ side, Harvey," Jim affirmed, but an unspoken "but" stuck to his sentence like a hidden dagger.

"Are ya? 'Cause _my_ balls are the ones gettin' fried if we don't find Nygma soon!"

"So we'll find him, with or without Oswald!"

It took a moment, but finally Harvey seemed to calm down. He sighed out loud. You could see the immense tension on him in every little movement of his eyes. He put a hand on Jim's shoulder as if seeking support. "I'm counting on you, partner. Don't let me down."

Jim imitated Harvey's movement, patted the Captain on the shoulder in a friendly manner and in addition brought their heads together, forehead to forehead. "Never."

That seemed to be exactly what Harvey needed. He sighed loudly one last time and then squeezed his shoulders. "Is Alvarez getting anywhere?"

"There are three stores in the area that specialize in wine."

"Three? Would be too easy if it was just one, huh?"

Jim commented on the cynical question with a false-faced grin, showing all his teeth. "Is there anything you'd like to say to the units before we send 'em out?"

"Ya bet. I'll tell 'em to give that punk a good one for me if they see him!" exclaimed Harvey and stormed purposefully out of the interrogation room. Jim followed him half laughing, half shaking his head.

"And what about me!?" cried Oswald after them, still handcuffed, but he didn't get an answer.

\---

In fact, Oswald was taken out of the interrogation room shortly thereafter by two police officers and locked in one of the large cells that, like zoo enclosures, made up the entire right flank of the precinct. He was lucky enough to be locked into an empty cell. Large groups of men and women were locked in to his left and right, giving him partly perplexed, partly frightened, partly mocking glances. Could a criminal in Gotham still be safe when even _the Penguin_ could be locked up?

From his present position it was difficult for Oswald to follow what happened at the precinct. A few steps in front of him stood Gordon and had a not very cheerful sounding conversation with Leslie Thompkins. Directly behind him, on the other side of the room, in an elevated position was Captain Bullock's office, where Harvey was making a heated phone call while Gabe and another of Oswald's henchmen were already waiting in front of his desk. Harvey ended the phone call with a wall-shaking growl and slammed the phone down on the base before passing the two gorillas and stepping out of the office, down the stairs - in Oswald's direction. Oswald's henchmen followed the cop with ponderous steps and crackling leather jackets.

"What's life like when you can buy your way out of responsibility?", spat the police captain, whereupon Oswald pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and, with the words, "Can't complain," tilted his head to one side. So had his lawyer finally obtained his release?

"If you interfere with Nygma, I'll personally see to it that you get back to Arkham - and stay _this_ _time_. Got it?" Harvey's stare was menacing, but Oswald, unimpressed, merely lifted the corners of his mouth.

" _Of course_ ," he replied with a sugar-sweet whisper and then waited until the Captain had unlocked the cell before he adjusted his clothes and said in an amused manner: "Seeing you is always a delight, Bullock, but I still have some work to do. So you'll forgive me if I leave now." He passed Harvey and hobbled towards the exit.

But before he had even reached the last desks, the roaring sound of a bullet almost knocked him to the ground. He crouched, instinctively clutching one hand in Gabe's jacket, who in turn had immediately drawn his pistol. If Oswald had known what awaited him today, he would hardly have left the house unarmed. But here he was now, with nothing but teeth and fingernails to defend himself - for he had left his cane with the hidden blade in the limousine in front of the jewelry store - and stared at the entrance to the police station, where a well-known Blonde in a black fur coat and a mini dress stood, holding a gun towards the ceiling.

Not only Oswald and his henchmen had gone into a defensive position, at least twenty policemen had immediately drawn their guns, directed them more or less precisely at Barbara Kean. Among them was Jim Gordon, who lowered his gun the moment he realized who was standing in the entrance to the precinct and who now gave all the other cops a signal to lower their guns as well while he jogged in Barbara's direction. Lee, whose hate speech had been interrupted by the gunshot, hissed and rolled her eyes before turning and strutting away as if there was no crazy armed lady in the station.

"Barbara," cried Jim in admonishing astonishment and raised his hands in appeasement when the Blonde rewarded his approach by pointing the muzzle at his forehead.

"How is it possible that you still haven't caught Nygma?!"

"Barbara, put the gun down," Jim tried again, but the conversation between these two seemed to take place in completely different time zones.

"Since this morning, the news is full of him - _the Riddler_." She pronounced it like she was coughing up a slimy lump.

"And what's _your_ business with the loony?" Harvey asked in between, calmly - but not without a hint of raw cynicism - tilting his head to one side while adjusting the angle of his gun to be able to protect Jim from his ex-girlfriend should the worst happen.

"Good question...", spat Oswald bitterly, whose presence was only now really noticed by Barbara. 

" _You!_ ," she hissed and did not let Jim stop her as she unceremoniously pushed the policeman aside to run towards Oswald. "Call Nygma and tell him to let her go! She has nothing to do with this!" Barbara didn't care that she was outgunned and Oswald's henchmen each had a muzzle to her head.

"Let _who_ go?" asked Jim, before Oswald had a chance to do it, which caused Barbara to turn to him with a mixture of sobbing and hissing and press a photo against his chest that she had carried in her coat.

"He took her..." Tears gleamed in her hateful eyes and Oswald could already guess who she was talking about. But why would Edward kidnap her? What for?

Jim turned the Polaroid photo and stared swallowing at the two people who were gagged and chained to a concrete wall - Butch and Tabitha.

"If he isn't caught soon, he'll probably hurt her!" She looked back at Oswald, shaking her head in a fit of self-hate. "I should have never participated in this... and it's all **because of you**!"

Oswald lowered his eyelids and tightened the corners of his mouth, expelling his breath in amusement. "Although I _more_ than enjoy being the cause for your misery, _sadly_ I don't know what you're talking about." His face mimicked a concerned expression while his voice dripped with sarcasm like Harvey's beard from the fat of today's breakfast burrito. 

"Hold on one sec. Penguin's responsible for the kidnapping of these two?" asked Harvey Bullock with cocked ears because he sensed another opportunity to arrest Oswald.

Barbara crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I helped Nygma because Pengy here didn't pay enough attention to our bespectacled friend and instead dated a cute teacher."

For a second, Harvey and Jim lost all control over their features, while Oswald closed his eyelids as if in agony, raising his brows in time with his index finger. "To be clear, I didn't _date_ anyone."

Harvey pressed his palms to his ears. "That's _the last thing_ I wanna know!" He really didn't want to imagine Oswald Cobblepot, momma's boy and eccentric, melodramatic, creepy-ass crime lord with _anyone_! Not with any teacher, and definitely not with Nygma. Those two would be a walking freak porn - the kind where your erection turns itself inside out! Brr! That gave him a chill... He preferred to remain in the illusion that Penguin didn't even have any sexual organs!

"Who cares?! Nygma felt rejected by you and then came whining to me to support his little outburst of jealousy for which you kicked him out in the end," Barbara continued.

"Wait, wait." Oswald raised both palms. "Outburst of jealousy? Does that mean..."

Barbara moaned loudly. Had he still not figured it out yet? Oswald was almost as love-blind as Edward! "Yes, Nygma has the hots for you. In the end, even an icicle seems to have feelings - but that's not the point now! The point is that it's _your_ fault that he's gone completely nuts!"

For Oswald that was exactly the point! Edward... loved him! Their feelings were mutual! But did that change the situation he was in? Even though Edward loved him, he had arranged for Oswald to be arrested! Why? Other people - normal(?) people - apologized to their beloved and gave him heartwarming gifts or wrote him a poem! And Edward!? Edward hid somewhere, guided Oswald into a trap with ridiculous riddles and ensured that he was arrested! Oswald had very little experience in love and relationships, but **THIS** was certainly no proof of love.

Meanwhile, Harvey gave his buddy Jim an uneasy look. "Am I the only one who feels like stickin' a welder in his ears?"

Jim's response was limited to a consensual frown before the detective turned to Barbara to bring the conversation to a conclusion that would hopefully help them catch Ed. "And what did you gain by supporting him?" Like Oswald, Barbara never did anything without benefiting from it.

"Well..." Barbara finally lowered her gun. "He wanted to find out for me the truth about this mysterious Court."

Jim widened his eyes, immediately grabbed Barbara gruffly by the upper arm and dragged her up the stairs and into Harvey's office. Harvey gave the same treatment to the clamoring Oswald, slamming the door of his office before Oswald's henchmen could even enter. Gabe glanced questioningly at his workmate, but then they just shrugged and positioned themselves like guards left and right of the entrance. Hopefully their boss wouldn't hold this against them all too hard.

"It's a little too late for erotic kidnapping games, don't you think, Jim? Aren't you more into _playing doctor_ these days - or is that out of date too already?" Barbara teased in a mixture of annoyance and amusement as she freed herself from Gordon's stiff handle.

Oswald also freed himself, hissing while pulling his arm away from the Captain, who was just taking one last, searching glance out of the glass door, as if he could tell from the policemen's faces alone whether they had understood what Barbara had just been talking about. "Think we're safe..."

"What was that all about?"

"Did you tell anyone else 'bout the Court?"

"What? No!" Oswald hissed immediately.

"Do I look like someone who would be careless with such information?" Barbara asked.

"To be completely honest, yes," Harvey replied dismissively.

Barbara snorted.

"Think, Barbara - it's really important that nobody knows about this Court," Jim demanded in a paternalistic tone.

"I haven't told anyone about this!" insisted the Blonde, feeling offended by Jim's insistent question. "Now will someone tell me what's going on?! Why can't anyone know about this?"

Harvey and Jim moved into a corner of the room together, whispering, deliberating.

Oswald shook his head. Was this about Edward now or the Court? And had Edward actually continued to search for these people behind his back? It would suit him... Oswald only hoped he hadn't made some powerful enemies. Could it be that the search for the Court, the betrayal of Oswald and Edward's spectacular riddle crimes were connected?

While thinking, his gaze fell on a wall clock, which made him open his mouth in shock. It was already half past eleven - Edward was probably already in the bank and awaiting his arrival. "I'm sorry, gentlemen..." he glanced briefly at Barbara, " _Miss Kean_. I don't have the time to chat with you any longer. _But good luck with your work_." No matter how politely he spoke, it never sounded honest.

"Stop!" growled Barbara. "Where are you going? You know where he is, don't you?!"

Oswald disparagingly tightened the corners of his mouth and clutched the door handle. "Have a nice day."

But Barbara wouldn't let the bird fly off. Once again, she drew her gun. " _Pengy_... you're gonna tell me where Nygma is. Or your lover will get you back with a hole in your head."

"Barbara!" exclaimed Jim, startled, and Harvey also made a surprised sound, raising his arms in appeasement. "You should have taken the gun from her," he complained a little too late.

Penguin's henchmen had also reacted immediately, ripped open the door to the office and pulled out their weapons. But they didn't shoot, because their boss gave them a signal to lower their guns again and then turned towards the Blonde.

"If you shoot me, it won't bring you any closer to Ed."

Barbara hissed. Oswald was right, of course, but she still longed to put a hole in his smug face.

"Hold on! So you really know where Nygma is!?," growled Harvey and suddenly Oswald had two opponents.

He saved himself an answer and instead turned back to leaving, his henchmen clearing the doorway for him.

"Why are you still protecting him," Jim suddenly asked.

Oswald paused in the doorway.

"I assume you had no idea what Nygma was up to."

Oswald gave the detective a blank look over his shoulder.

"I heard what Barbara said, but... to me it seems more like he wants to get rid of you. Who knows, maybe he even wants to take your place..."

"What are you trying, James? Are you trying to turn me against him?"

"Nah, I'm just being honest." He didn't sound very honest. "Nygma set you up deliberately - you didn't know we were looking for you and you didn't know 'bout the diamonds in your pocket."

Barbara tore her lips open in shocked fascination. "What?! Nygma betrayed Pengy? That must have been a _very_ nasty scene between you two yesterday. But, really, why are you still protecting him? It's obvious he's written you off. You hated his show yesterday, now he hates you. Even though you loved him _soooooo_ much", she stated as if she was talking about two primary school children instead of repeated killers. "And Eddie is at least as stubborn and proud as you are. Once he learns that you're at large and looking for him..." she put an index finger to her throat while imitating a slit sound with her tongue on her palate, "he may want to make sure you stay away from him - for good." She pursed her lips in feigned pity. "So what do you say? Give up Nygma - tell us where he is and save your own ass. Like you always do, Ozzy."

Oswald snorted. He really didn't want to hear anything like that from someone like Barbara! If Gotham was a chessboard, she was of no more importance than a pawn. Edward on the other hand... Edward was a bishop and rook in one! He was... yes, he was the queen! And what king would sacrifice the queen for two pawns and a knight? 

"Though I don't like the way she said it, she's got a point," Bullock remarked and tilted his head.

Gordon dramatically gripped the belt of his trousers. "Help us find Nygma, Oswald. No harm will come to him, I promise."

Oswald laughingly expelled air. "Sorry, old friend, but I pass. For, as my mother used to say, _the police are liars_."

And with that sentence, Oswald finally left the office and hobbled down the stairs. But he stopped at the exit, with a confused look on his face. In front of him stood a man dressed in a cardboard vine and a woman in a cardboard pear. They were talking to an officer who was pointing them towards the captain's office, from which Bullock, Gordon and Barbara had just emerged.

"A message for you, Captain Bullock."

Harvey sighed softly. He already knew who the message was from. "Thank you, Harry."

"You're welcome." Harry grabbed the peak of his police cap for goodbye and headed for his desk.

"You're afraid of healthy food, or why are ya still here, Penguin?" hissed Harvey in Oswald's direction, who in turn smiled unimpressed.

"I will gladly leave this place." But he paused on his way. If this message was from Edward - and he had the impression it was - he was eager to know what it contained.

"I'm Captain Bullock - you have a message for me?"

"Yep."

The cardboard fruits wiggled their hips several times and then suddenly began to hum, click their tongues and eventually - heaven forbid - sing.

"Ya entered me but shall not yet go, unless you wanna see me and my two brothers glow. Bound we are through an invisible wire, one false step'll ignite the fire. Which, nourished by wine, will reach for the stars. Wanna stop me from lighting the fuse? For that ya need to find the missing clues. Yeah!" The grapevine cleared his throat and then reached out his hand. "That'd be twenty-five bucks."

"Twenty-five-?!" Harvey snorted and then dug out his wallet to pay the singing fruits. "D'ye at least have a transcript of that song?"

"Was lit, huh?" The grapevine winked and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his costume. "I'll also throw in our card in case you ever wanna send a beat yourself."

Harvey waited for the fruits to leave before he turned to Jim. "Where's Fox?"

"I'll let him know."

\---

Oswald was in fact still at the precinct, and back in Bullock's office - and that had only partly to do with the fact that he wanted to know what the new riddle was about. The other part was right in front of the precinct steps and consisted of a whole horde of reporters and bystanders who had learned that the Mayor had been arrested and demanded an immediate statement from him and the police. 'It was just a stupid misunderstanding that could be cleared up in the meantime' had not been enough for them and Bullock had refused to make a statement because he allegedly had his hands full with the Riddler case - in reality, the Captain enjoyed the fact that Oswald was now practically trapped at the precinct until the mob had disbanded (and he certainly wouldn't arrange that too quickly).

"I want to show you something." Lucius Fox pulled out a map, which he attached with pins to a cork board. The map showed the southeastern sector of Gotham. "Here we have the city hall and financial district. These..." he put some red pins on certain points on the map, "are the places where the Riddler has struck so far, and if you now...", he added three more pins, "add the three wine stores, it looks like this."

"That son of a bitch..." Harvey breathed and leaned forward on his chair, shaking his head.

Oswald smiled. It suited Ed. Of course, the places he had attacked hadn't been chosen at random. If you looked at them from the perspective of a satellite image, his robberies created a question mark that stretched across the southeastern section of Gotham. All that was missing now was the dot - but Oswald, unlike everyone else in this room, already knew where the dot was, the Snow-Bank. With this coup the Riddler had put his mark on the city quite literally - what a beginning of a crime career.

"Then with the wine riddle, he meant not one, but actually all three wine stores," Jim concluded, and Fox added, "And I suspect that the passage about the _two brothers_ in the new riddle alludes to this as well."

Harvey dropped his chin. "You say he wants to burn down the wine stores?! It'll end in one giant fucking inferno!"

" _One false step will ignite the fire. Which, nourished by wine, will reach for the stars_ ," Fox recited the matching passage from the riddle song.

Harvey fished for the phone in panic while Jim pulled out his mobile. "I call Bakers and Simon, you call Taylor."

"Tell them that under no circumstances are the units to leave the wine shops," Fox explained. " _Bound we are through an invisible wire_ \- presumably the three shops are connected by some kind of wireless signal that was activated when they entered and will trigger an ignition when they pass through the doors again..." He glanced down at the slip of paper containing the riddle. "Now we just have to find out what the _missing clues_ are... and...", he stared at the cork board behind him, "where the dot of the question mark is. Perhaps that's where the Riddler is right now. In this potential location, there are numerous banks, corporations, credit institutions ... too many to examine them individually."

"You found something?"

Everyone turned to Gordon, who was on the phone with Taylor. When he saw the looks on everyone's faces, he took the phone off his ear and put it on speaker.

"Yeah, it's a card with a question mark on it and a big three. There's something written on the other side: _With another, I leave you alone. Where am I?_ "

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Doesn't make much sense, huh?"

"Thanks anyway. Hang in there. We'll get you out."

"We're counting on you."

He hung up.

"Could that have been the clue?"

"Makes little sense on its own..."

"Maybe it's three clues that combine to one? Why else would Nygma write a three on the card?", Barbara interposed. She was sitting on a chair with her legs crossed, but her eyes swarmed across the room as if she were sitting on hot coals. Every second they didn't spend getting closer to Nygma and thus to Tabitha made her worry worse.

Harvey and Gordon shared a look.

"I'm gonna call Simon again and see if they found a card like this."

"Then I'm gonna call Bakers."

Two phone calls later and the riddle was complete: _You can see me, but you cannot touch me. With the flick of a switch, I enter your home. With another, I leave you alone. Where am I?_

Fox and Barbara made confused grimaces, Oswald did not visibly participate in the riddle session.

Harvey, on the other hand, was boiling with rage. He slammed his fist on the table. "He's taunting us! The lives of fifteen men are at stake!" Growling, he turned to Oswald. He knew where Edward was - Harvey no longer had any doubt. "If even one of these men dies today, the TV reporters out there will be the least of your problems!"

"That's it! You're a genius, Harvey!" exclaimed Gordon and turned to a small television that stood in the left corner of the office.

"Tell me something I don't already know," Bullock replied, but he still did not know what Gordon was getting at. At least not until Jim turned on the remote control and Edward Nygma appeared on the TV, clearly visible to all of them - below him a news banner with the headline: The Riddler holds fifteen police officers hostage.

Only now did life return to Oswald. He sat up in the chair he had previously sat in completely apathetic. "Ed!"

Edward stood in front of a painting he had previously stolen from the gallery - it was a reference to Rembrand's oil painting 'The Court of Death'. He had painted a green question mark over the face of the central figure of death. To match his green trademark, he wore a bright green suit, a black bowler hat and black leather gloves. To Oswald, in this gaudy costume, he looked like a strangely attractive leprechaun who had got lost on the way to his rainbow and ended up in a television set instead. For his personal taste, the suit was a little _too_ gaudy, but somehow it fit Ed.

"I have a question. What is this mysterious Court that controls the levers of power here in Gotham?"

Harvey yelled towards the open office door. "Alvarez! Go to channel 7, find out where Nygma is broadcasting from."

Meanwhile, Edward pointed to three monitors, which showed the officers being held. "And let me burn up fifteen police officers in order to keep their anonymity." The Riddler laughed ecstatically and then leaned forward into the camera. "And the GCPD will not save these men _either_. I've given them every chance, but they're no match for me!" Another ecstatic laugh.

Oswald lowered his eyebrows. What was he doing?! If this Court really existed, Ed would immediately become a target with such an action! How important could solving a stupid riddle be to him, that he risked his life so recklessly for it!?

As if to answer Oswald's many questions, James Gordon's mobile phone suddenly rang. Jim exchanged a quick glance with Harvey, which made both Barbara and Oswald lower their eyelids confusedly before he answered the call.

"Yes, I am." There was a long silence, and from Jim's changing facial features, you could tell the caller wasn't saying anything pleasant.

"To prove my loyalty. You want me to find Nygma and bring him to you?"

Oswald jumped up from his seat. "What!?" But that was as far as he got, as Harvey rushed up to him and put a hand on his lips. Jim was going to hand Edward over to the Court!? Was this what was happening right now!? Was Gordon in cahoots with the Court?!

Oswald's henchmen wanted to rush to his aid, but two gun muzzles at the back of their heads changed their intentions - Barbara was more than taken with the idea of handing Nygma over. Fox, meanwhile, was a little out of place behind them, had given a tense swallow at the sight of the guns.

Jim turned away from Oswald and Harvey. "No, it came from outside... I'm at the precinct, but there's no one here with me right now." Silence again. Jim's face got hard. "He's a cop killer. He belongs in prison." A few seconds later, the conversation ended and Jim lowered the phone.

Harvey took his hand off Oswald's lips, which immediately caused Oswald to push the captain off. "Was it them - the Court?! Are you planning to hand Edward over to them?!"

Gordon ignored the angry Oswald and turned to Harvey. "That was the Court. If I hand him over, I'm in."

"They'll probably kill him," Harvey replied, almost with a look of pity on his face.

Oswald puffed up loud in the background, clenching both hands into fists.

"And if I don't, we'll never stop them from destroying the city," Gordon argued.

Oswald shook his head, overwhelmed. "Destroying the city?!" Was that the Courts goal? But with what intention? Mere destructiveness? Or did they have a higher aim behind their destruction, as Galavan did back then?

Jim dialed a number and Edward's phone rang.

The Riddler grinned broadly and clapped his hands once in triumph. If only he knew what Oswald knew... if only Oswald could tell him...

As if Harvey had heard his thoughts, he threw himself at Oswald again, holding him in a clasp and sealing his mouth with his right paw. "You're gonna keep your mouth shut, a'right?"

Edward took the call and leaned back towards the camera. "Hello?"

"Nygma."

You could see the sound of Jim's voice on the other end of the phone tearing the sparkle from Edward's eyes. He lowered the corners of his mouth and then turned away from the camera. "Jim, I'm so sorry. We can't be clogging up the lines. I'm actually expecting an important call."

"You want to know who runs Gotham? I have the answer. Come by the GCPD. I'll tell it to you."

Edward closed his eyes. "Hm. Yeah, I think I'll pass on that."

"Then you'll never know the truth. You think I told Oswald everything I know?"

"You always were clever, Jim. I respect that, which is why I'm inviting you to come to me instead."

"To you?"

"Yes - I'll text you the address." And that was the end of both the broadcast and the call.

"Will you go?" Harvey asked as he released Oswald from his grip once again. Oswald coughed dry as if he had swallowed a thick hairball.

"I must."

"I'm coming with you," Barbara announced, still pinning two guns to the back of the heads of Oswald's subordinates.

"No. I must go alone, or Nygma will set fire to the wine shops."

"You don't really think I'm gonna let you hand Ed over to that Court, do you?" Oswald shouted indignantly.

"It can't be avoided," Gordon replied determinedly, then gave Barbara a hint, whereupon she snorted first and then knocked Oswald's men unconscious with her guns. The gorillas fell noisily to the ground and Oswald was now completely unarmed. Which did not stop him from raging and stabbing Gordon with glances as he pondered how he could somehow turn the situation around.

But Harvey really had it in for him today. The Captain opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out two pairs of handcuffs. "And so you don't cause us any more trouble..."

Although Oswald resisted, it took little effort for Harvey to direct him into a chair and chain him up. All Oswald could do now was to roar, and he did.

"I WARN YOU! WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE-!"

Harvey sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes... got it..." When he turned to Jim, his partner had raised his brows, an unspoken 'are you sure this is a good idea' hovered in the air.

With a shrug, Harvey replied to the never-asked question, "Sometimes you just have to let kids cry."

As if to confirm Bullock's offensive analogy, Oswald now began to kick wildly with his legs. "YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"

Harvey moved closer to his partner, bedding a hand on his shoulder. "The life of every single person in Gotham City is now in your hands, buddy..."

Jim grinned crookedly. "That sounds soothing."

"I tell it like it is. We're counting on you."

"And what about Tabby? If Nygma gets killed by this Court, I'll never find her", Barbara said stubbornly.

Gordon gave Harvey a penetrating look.

The Captain sighed. "Oh, come on. Surely Alvarez can do it."

Jim shrugged his shoulders suggestively, making Harvey raise his arms in resignation.

"A'right! As you wish, _Captain Gordon_ ," he mumbled sarcastically, then turned to Barbara. "I'll help you find her."

Barbara pulled a face as if a worm had just proposed to her. "I'll pass on that."

"Well, I guess it can't be helped." Harvey seemed more than relieved.

"Jim. Promise me you'll ask Nygma where he's taken her." There was a warmth and fragility in Barbara's voice that reminded Gordon of more pleasant, simpler times.

"I'll see what I can do."

Harvey tied up Oswald's henchman, stuffed the Crime Lord's mouth with his own tie, and then they left him alone in the office - which, of course, Harvey locked from the outside and lowered the blinds. After all, no one had to know that the GCPD was holding the Mayor of Gotham captive - and if anyone did ask, it was for his own safety, of course!

\---

He did not know exactly how long he had been in that office. At some point he had stopped kicking, stopped screaming against the gag. This was already the second evening in a row that Oswald spent bound and gagged - one could almost get the impression that he liked it.

Gabe and the second hulk had still not awoken from their beauty sleep, or perhaps they had, but thought it wiser to pretend they were still unconscious.

Only when Oswald's arms had fallen asleep and his lower legs were also tingling and aching with fatigue did the door to the Captain's office unlock again and Jim Gordon appeared before him - his gaze cold, unemotional.

Oswald tore open his eyelids, actually feeling something like fear at the first moment. But this fear quickly turned to anger and he lowered his brows and shook his shackles again.

First the gag was taken off, the purple-black tie already soaked in saliva.

"What have you done to Ed!? Did you really hand him over to this Court!?"

Jim swallowed quietly while continuing to keep the emotionless mask on his face and started to unlock Oswald's shackles.

"Go home, Oswald. Let it go."

"Why? Because otherwise you will also sell me to your powerful friends as you did with Ed?" Oswald hissed.

"Let it go," Gordon repeated.

But who would Oswald be if he let this thing go?

Tbc


	9. Ice cream and the burden of being an underworld boss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Edward was captured by the Court, Penguin tries to get in contact with Kathryn to negotiate his release and meanwhile settles an outstanding business.

Chapter 9

**Ice cream and the burden of being an underworld boss**

"Hello, Jim."

That was definitely not how James Gordon had imagined his day when he stepped out of his apartment early in the morning with the firm intention of visiting the address of Kathryn Monroe to find information about the ultimate weapon with which the Court of Owls wanted to 'cleanse' Gotham.

He pulled his brows together discontentedly, glanced at Penguin, who stood with a superior grin on the steps of the damp, narrow alley leading to his run-down apartment. The Mayor's elegant clothes, the black velvet tailcoat shining in the milky morning light and the slim, untrained figure with the royal pale skin provided a perfect contrast to the harsh environment in which Jim Gordon lived for little money.

"Oswald. I assume this is not a social call."

"I'm here for Ed," Oswald explained with a smoky growl in his voice.

Jim closed his lids. Apparently, Oswald still didn't get it. He still hadn't realized how dangerous the water was in which he was splashing along calmly. Or maybe he didn't care.

"Let it go, Oswald."

"Sorry, old friend, no can do."

Penguin hobbled cautiously down the remaining steps to be on the same level with Jim - a sign of his goodwill and also of his threatening presence. "You spoke yesterday of delivering Edward to the Court, yet today I read in the paper that Ed has _allegedly_ escaped your custody and is on the run." Oswald had raised both eyebrows, disbelief carved deep into his features. "Surely you can understand why I do not buy this story."

Gordon knew there was no point in lying - after all, Oswald had been there when he spoke to the Court. But that didn't mean he couldn't just change the subject. "And I read in the paper that your reputation as Mayor suffered greatly from the Riddler attacks and your arrest, Oswald. Maybe you should focus on that for now and leave the Court to me."

This statement seemed to please Oswald rather than upset him, as the corners of his mouth lifted to a smug smile and he leaned forward slightly to whisper to Jim with superior cheerfulness, "I knew you'd respond like this." He leaned back again, both hands resting on his bird-headed cane. "And that's why I didn't come alone. You remember Victor?"

A metallic click, a cold sensation at the back of Gordon's head and then the playful voice of Victor Zsasz. "Hi, Jim."

"Zsasz", Gordon replied with scant enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, Oswald's smile had grown wider. "So now let's get back to what I need from you, James - old friend." He blinked his eyelashes several times, slightly lowering his head to make his eyes appear larger. Suddenly, his whole facial expressions had a coquettish quality. "I want you to tell your friends on this Court to let Ed go."

Gordon snorted in bewilderment and shook his head. "And why would the Court listen to that?"

Oswald pulled something from his pocket, a cell phone, and held it out to Jim. "Just tell them I want Ed back. My number is in the phone. I expect their call till nightfall." If this Kathryn woman was still expecting any kind of support from the Mayor, she would contact him and agree to his condition. Of course Gordon didn't need to know that the Court had already approached him.

"Drop it, Oswald. Nygma is most likely dead already," Gordon said with the delicacy of a bulldozer, but took the mobile phone anyway.

That had definitely been the last thing Oswald wanted to hear. He slammed his jaws loudly and turned up his nose. "You'd better pray that he isn't, Jim," he spat.

To underline the threat, Zsasz pressed the muzzle of his gun against the back of Gordon's head and gave a joyful "Pew!"

Gordon smiled crookedly. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being threatened?"

A threat? If Gordon thought that was a threat, he'd better not provoke Penguin any further. "This is a favor, Jim. After all," he pursed his lips, which gave his face a sad look, "we are old friends."

Oswald didn't even wait for Jim to answer him, immediately turned around on his heel and hobbled up the stairs again to leave the narrow alley. Victor waited a moment longer, giving his boss a small head start before he put the gun down and walked past Gordon with a broad grin on his face.

\---

Of course Oswald hoped that Jim would do him the favor of passing on his message to the Court, but he would be a fool to make the rescue of Edward solely dependent on the changeable nature of a Jim Gordon. For this reason, he had already set up a loose information network across Gotham yesterday. His minions had gathered as much information as possible about the most important and oddest pawns until this morning and would now meet their boss at the Van Dahl mansion at noon.

When he entered the cabinet room at the back of the mansion, which had only a single window concealed under a heavy curtain and a double door that could be locked from the inside, all of his subordinates were already sitting around the long table made of African ebony, at the head of which was an empty throne with a high, richly ornamented backrest and anthracite-colored velvet upholstery.

Suddenly there was silence. Only the rhythmic thumping of Oswald's cane on the natural gray stone floor echoed from the high walls, accompanied the way of the Crime Lord to his throne chair, on which he sat down with a soft sigh.

"Let's get straight to the point: do any of you fine gentlemen have information directly related to the Court?"

Heads lowered, staring intently at the finely grained tabletop. No response. Would have been all too easy.

"You mean to tell me that this powerful organization, whose reach goes _everywhere_ , has left no trace at all?"

Again, only sheepish expressions. Oswald groaned, then crossed both hands in front of his navel and leaned back in his throne. "Then tell me what else you found out."

He had to admit that the king's role had its drawbacks. Although he now had resources and numerous pairs of eyes that could follow the life in Gotham for him, unfortunately these pairs of eyes mostly belonged to rather poorly equipped brains, which was why often important peculiarities from the observations of his subordinates were missing, because they did not seem important at first sight. When Oswald himself had been actively involved in the events, it were precisely these small peculiarities that had always made the difference between victory and defeat.

"Tabitha Galavan and Butch Gilzean have resurfaced and found shelter with Barbara Kean," informed one of his subordinates.

Oswald fumbled thoughtfully with his fingers, tapping his thumbs against each other. "We still have to deal with Barbara as well... but Ed is our priority. Keep your eye on her anyway, so she doesn't interfere."

"One of our guards at Arkham has reported that Barnes has been transferred, but no one knows where he was taken."

"This sounds beyond suspicious..." It reminded him of the disappearance of the criminals believed to be dead, who were then used as research objects in the laboratories of Indian Hill and brought back to life.

"Selina Kyle fell from a window and was taken to hospital. A junkie claims that he saw Bruce Wayne push her."

Oswald arched his brows in disbelief. " _Bruce Wayne?_ "

"Maybe he was just daydreamin' in his drug haze." His subordinate shrugged, playing down the information just because of the drug addiction of its carrier.

"Bruce Wayne... he was already acting suspiciously at the gala..." Maybe he should get to the bottom of the billionaire boy's odd behavior?

But before he had decided how to proceed in the matter of the Wayne boy, another of his subordinates told him something that made any other information suddenly seem insignificant.

"Fish Mooney has been sighted in Gotham. Her old allies are stirring."

He tore open his eyelids, lost his relaxed posture for a moment, jolted up a bit from the upholstery. " _Fish?_ Anything about what she might be doing here?"

"No, nothing."

"Has Strange also been spotted?"

"No. But there's a rumor that Fish is out there gatherin' monsters again - though it could just be rumors."

"Perhaps she hasn't given up on her goal from back then..." Oswald speculated. "I want you to find out where she is and if Strange is with her - I have a very special score to settle with him."

Jim Gordon, Ex-Captain Barnes, Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle and Fish Mooney - what did they have in common? What was their connection to the Court? Was there any connection at all? How likely was it that they were all acting suspiciously at the same time? He would have to keep an eye on all of them and carefully consider his next steps. Especially the sudden appearance of Fish worried him. The fact that she was back in Gotham didn't bode well and Oswald wasn't sure about their relationship after their last encounter. Were they still enemies? Did Oswald have to fear that Fish might jeopardize his plan to save Edward? Would she come and try to retake the Underworld from Penguin's grasp while he was taking care of the Court?

A knock against the heavy double door pulled him out of his thoughts and a few seconds later the hairless head of Victor Zsasz peeped through the crack of the door. "Boss, there's someone to see you. Should I send him away?"

"Who is it?"

Zsasz bit his cheek from the inside. "Didn't ask." He let his gaze circle thoughtfully, the deep, dark eye sockets always giving him a gloomy, melancholic expression, while the raised corners of his mouth and the sparkle in his irises carved an eerie madness into his features.

A short moment passed. Oswald was apparently waiting for a description of the man, while Victor had started to stare at a random spot.

"Victor?"

The assassin shook himself out of his thoughts and raised his eyelids to indicate his - now also mental - presence.

When Oswald then tilted his head in a telling way, it suddenly dawned on Victor. He flicked his fingers once. "Ah, yes, I shall ask him." And then he disappeared from the room for a moment, only to open the door again shortly afterwards and inform his boss in a bored voice that a Mr. Stemmel was looking for him.

Rolling his eyes, Oswald rose from his throne. "Gentlemen, I think we can end this meeting now. Do as I ask and keep a close eye on the current affairs, and if anyone hears anything about the Court, I want to know about it immediately."

"Right, Boss." Consensual nodding, then the numerous gorillas rose from their seats and shuffled out the door. In the hallway they met Tarquin Stemmel, walked past him in a relaxed manner - a few of them even greeted the man, who looked rather insecure - and left the property in a leisurely stream of muscles and black leather jackets.

Behind them, Oswald also left the cabinet room, closing and locking the door from the outside. His eyes fell first on Victor. "You may also leave, Victor."

Zsasz grinned as if he had been presented with a rocket launcher and strutted down the corridor towards the exit. Guarding was definitely not one of his favorite tasks. He was already looking forward to coming home to his girls - maybe he would have a milkshake on the way.

It was only after the hit man had left that Oswald changed his facial expression and attitude from 'Penguin' to 'Mayor Cobblepot' and approached his Deputy Chief of Staff with a fake smile on his face, who still seemed a little intimidated by what he had just witnessed.

"You were looking for me?"

"Y-yes, yes, I was." He cleared his throat. "When I came to pick you up for work this morning, I was told you left the mansion early. I thought I'd find you at City Hall, but that wasn't the case. It is essential that we act quickly after the events surrounding Mr. Nygma and announce his immediate dismissal and your distance from his actions. Next, we should work on the best possible publicity."

The thought of dismissing Edward, while he was being held captive and perhaps even tortured by this Court, was more than repugnant to Oswald, but not to do so would endanger his mayoral position, and that was the only thing he could use to negotiate with the Court.

He forced himself to smile, while his eyes remained cool and distant. "Then you'd best arrange everything for a public address."

\---

"I therefore consider it necessary to distance myself publicly from the _terrible_ deeds committed by E... Mr. Nygma. He did not act in the role of my Chief of Staff at any point during the past day and his actions were completely beyond my knowledge. Mr. Nygma's deeds are also the reason why I have decided to reassign his position and appoint Mr. Tarquin Stemmel as my new Chief of Staff."

There was clapping and Tarquin stepped onto the low stage, raised his hand like a Roman senator and had an assistant hand him a microphone. "Thank you very much. Thank you, Mr. Mayor, for putting so much faith in me. I will not disappoint you. Do the reporters have any more questions for our mayor?"

A lady raised her hand and was given the floor. "Mr. Mayor, the GCPD claims that Edward Nygma escaped during his arrest. Do you know his current whereabouts?"

Yes - in captivity by the Court. "No - of course not. As I said before, I no longer have any connection with E... Mr. Nygma." Oswald urgently needed to stop thinking about how to find and free Edward. Just before he had stepped to the lectern, he had received a call from two of his subordinates whose job it was to follow Jim Gordon. Apparently, the detective had gone to a mansion that according to further research was owned by a family named Monroe. Could this possibly be the headquarter of the Court? Were they holding Edward prisoner in that mansion? He wanted to find out as soon as possible, but without any information about what to expect in the mansion, it was probably still too dangerous.

Next, a man pushed his way out of the reporter crowd and the microphone was passed to him. "A jeweler and two bank employees were killed by your Ex-Chief of Staff - all three had families. Do you intend to take responsibility for that?"

The Mayor tightened the corners of his mouth, his head engulfed in thoughts of his time in Edward's apartment. "My deepest sympathy for the families left behind. I know myself how painful the time is after the loss of a loved family member - all those memories like daggers in your heart. But, as... my best friend once told me, the pain doesn't last forever," he began, but noticed that the reporter's face was getting harder and harder instead of softer, so he added with a smile, "And maybe a five-figure sum will help each of the families cope with their loss."

Unanimous clapping - they could have said right away that it was money they wanted.

"I think that's enough questions for the time being," Tarquin Stemmel intervened and then stepped next to the Mayor so that the reporters could take some last pictures of them before he raised his hand to let the press know that they should stop the flash now and accompanied Oswald down the stage.

On the way into the city hall building, however, Oswald stopped and reached into the inside pocket of his tailcoat. His cell phone vibrated. Could that already be...?

The number was blocked. He swallowed and put the phone to his ear.

"Mayor Cobblepot," a haughty woman's voice answered - a voice he was no stranger to. Gordon had actually done him the favor.

"Kathryn, if I remember correctly. And - if I may be so bold as to ask - is it possible that your last name is Monroe?"

He could almost hear the woman on the other end of the line smiling. "You are well informed, Mr. Cobblepot."

"You'll surely agree with me when I say that victory in a war depends upon the amount of information one has gathered about one's enemy."

"I couldn't agree more. All the more reason why your position is far below ours, and you are in no place to make demands to the Court."

Oswald's face grew hard. He had just arrived at his office, closed the heavy wooden door behind him and sat down at his desk with a stabbing throb in his right leg. Perhaps the weather changed, or he hadn't had enough rest today.

"At least let me know if Edward is still alive," he asked with a hint of defiance in his voice as he leaned back in his chair and put his right leg up on the desk with the use of his left hand. He opened the bottom drawer, pulled out a small blue cushion and pushed it under his ankle, groaning. Perhaps it was the stress and fear of losing Edward that was wearing his body down.

"I can assure you, Mr. Cobblepot, that Mr. Nygma is fine. We still have use for him."

Oswald hissed. "Why are you calling if you won't negotiate with me?" Was this phone call just to mock him and his office? "When we last met, didn't you say you needed me for your cause?"

Kathryn uttered a brief, spiteful laugh. "An easier opportunity has presented itself."

"Jim Gordon," it escaped Oswald immediately. He had torn open his eyelids as if surprised by his own assumption.

"You're a real intelligent man - I'll give you that."

"What can Jim Gordon give you that I can't?"

"He makes no demands."

"I find that hard to imagine. I know James, he's just trying to make contact with you so he can take you out."

"Do you have proof of this?"

Oswald clicked his tongue. Of course he had no direct evidence - he hadn't recorded the conversation at the GCPD after all.

"I'll take that as a 'no'. But if your assumption about Jim Gordon turns out to be true, I'll be willing to consider your offer. In fact, an opportunity will present itself today to test Gordons loyalty. So expect another call by sundown."

The call was ended and Oswald dropped the phone with a snort.

So Kathryn Monroe had called to point out to Oswald the possibility of a future partnership should Jim Gordon prove himself unreliable. So now he had to hope that Gordon made a mistake... Edward's life depended on _the great Detective James Gordon_ making a mistake.

Perhaps he would be wise to take care of that himself.

He dialed the number of one of the subordinates who were currently shadowing Jim Gordon.

"Where is Gordon now?"

"He's in an industrial park outside downtown. He and Captain Bullock went through a big steel gate using some kind of chip card and came out with a folder and what looks like a vial of blood."

"And you didn't thought it necessary to inform me!?" A vial of blood?

"We were about to call ya, Boss, but then Bullock and Gordon split up, and Gordon just got a call."

"Just now?"

"The moment ya called us."

Kathryn? Would she be running the test on Gordon right now? Oswald couldn't possibly interfere while the Court was interacting with Gordon. He bit his jaws together. So now he had to wait and hope that Gordon couldn't hide his true intentions.

"Fine. Keep following him, find out where he's going."

"Roger that, Boss."

He unceremoniously threw the phone on the tabletop and leaned back in his chair. He was a patient man, but not when it came to whether he would see the person he loved again. It reminded him of the time when he had done Galavan's dirty work. The past was repeating itself. But Oswald would make sure that it did not lead to the same end. He would not visit Edward every other week in the cemetery, bring him flowers and stand in front of his tombstone with tear-soaked eyes. Ed would not be the next victim of his weakness!

When there was a knock at the door to his office, the Mayor took his right leg off his desk and sat up in his chair. "Come in."

He suppressed a sigh when Tarquin Stemmel appeared in the doorway with a folder under his arm.

"Mr. Mayor, have you given any thought as to how we might get good publicity after your arrest and Mr. Nygma's betrayal of your generosity?"

Oswald lowered his eyebrows and waved a hand through the air as if the question bothered him. "No - I have not yet found the time to deal with this."

"Then may I offer a few suggestions?"

Perhaps a little work would take his mind off waiting and brooding. "Be my guest."

Tarquin cleared his throat. "After yesterday's break-in at your orphanage, you could make another public visit to the facility and have your picture taken with some of the children, and I might also have the opportunity to get an interview with..."

Oswald wouldn't let him finish. "Orphanage, you say?"

"Yes, I could get in touch with some journalists to..."

The Mayor raised a palm. "I just remembered I have some unfinished business." He got up from his chair, grabbed his cane, which had been leaning against the leg of the table, and hobbled towards the door.

"Shall I accompany you?" Apparently, Tarquin assumed that Oswald's business had something to do with his mayoralty - it did not.

"That won't be necessary."

"Do you plan to visit the orphanage later?"

"Not today - delay it to another day."

"And the interview? Margaret Hearst would like to meet you."

"Margaret Hearst?" Oswald faltered. "In the present situation, an interview with her might not be such a good idea."

"If we determine the narrative, this interview could restore your reputation in Gotham to where it was before Mr. Nygma's actions. Oh, what am I saying, even higher! And corresponding to this..." He opened the folder that he had previously carried under his arm, handed the Mayor a small bundle of stapled paper. "The new crime statistics came in this morning."

With unsteady fingers, Oswald reached for the data, gliding his eyes over the statistics. He had been confronted with so much since he took office, he had hardly worried about the crime rate. But perhaps the appointment of the Underworld King as Mayor had been enough in itself to make a small difference?

Tarquin smiled broadly. "You should be proud - Gotham's crime rate is at its _all-time_ _low_."

Oswald gasped for breath before he too smiled. It was unexpected. Perhaps his current mayoral position wasn't quite as compromised as he thought it would be after Edward's actions.

"Well? What do you think, Mr. Mayor? Should I schedule the interview?"

With a serene resolve, he returned the bundle of notes to Tarquin. "Absolutely."

\---

Oswald was already sitting at the Van Dahl estate with the table set when Gabe entered the dining room, a small body on his shoulder, with a black sack thrown over his head. He set the boy down at the head of the table.

"Good here, Boss?"

Oswald made a stunned grimace. "Are you an absolute idiot?! I told you to simply bring him here, not kidnap him!"

Gabe seemed confused. "Sorry, Boss, I just thought... it'd be safer if he didn't see where you live."

"Safer? It's just a kid! What can he possibly do?! Besides, _everyone_ in Gotham knows where I live - I am the Mayor, after all." Did that gorilla forget again?

Gabe raised both eyebrows, nodded twice as if in slow motion. "If you put it that way. True."

A heavy sigh escaped the Crime Lord and he grabbed his forehead with his right hand as if a sudden headache had settled in his frontal lobe. Was he only surrounded by morons!? All the more important that he got Edward back. When Gabe was still standing there useless, Oswald pointed at the boy with a fluttering hand. "Would you please take the sack off his head and leave us alone now?"

"Oh, sure, Boss - you got it."

The sack was lifted and Martin's brown curly head exposed. The boy seemed relatively calm despite the rough treatment, only letting his gaze wander a little uneasy through the luxurious dining room before his eyes caught Oswald's and something like a sparkle appeared in their brown depths.

After Gabe had finally left the dining room, Oswald leaned forward in his chair, folded both hands on the tabletop. "Forgive the rough treatment - my subordinate is all muscle, no brains. I hope he hasn't hurt you."

Martin shook his head, which made Oswald smile in relief.

"I am glad." He pointed to the spot in front of Martin, where a large bowl of colorful ice cream scoops stood, covered with a thick layer of chocolate sauce. "I hope you brought an appetite."

The orphan boy beamed, then immediately grabbed the silver spoon and without much elegance stabbed it in his cold dessert. Oswald watched him with visible satisfaction.

"You seem to enjoy it."

Martin nodded enthusiastically, his thin lips covered in chocolate sauce.

With a quiet laugh, Oswald leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers in front of his navel. "I thought today would be a good day to fulfill my end of our little deal. What do you say?"

A nod, then Martin pulled out a pen and scribbled something on his notepad, held the finished drawing with a determined look in Oswald's direction: a large pile of stick men with knives in their bodies.

Oswald giggled, then batted his eyelashes several times, which showed just how much he liked the boy's blood-lust. "That's perhaps a bit _too_ enthusiastic," he replied nevertheless. He could hardly allow children to be murdered on his advice - no matter how mean they were.

Martin barely noticeably pushed his lower lip forward, which made Oswald smile at first and then formulate a question.

"Do you know which weapon is more powerful than knives and pistols, young man?"

Martin started scribbling again, the result was a bomb and next to it a question mark. Adorable, but wrong. Oswald's smile widened, deep dimples stretched across his rouged cheeks.

"Good idea and definitely of great impact, but what I'm talking about is not really a weapon in that sense."

Martin frowned, this time drawing only a question mark on his notepad.

"I'm talking about information, small facts. Who knows his enemy, also knows how he can best harm him. For example, suppose your enemy has a good friend who is very dear to him. Your strategy now should be to take that friend away from him. Or perhaps he had a particularly difficult childhood, was often bullied by his classmates...", Oswald lowered his eyelids, a gloomy grin carved into his lips, "then it would be easy to give him the impression that you or one of your allies was going through something quite similar, and thus gain his sympathy and trust, in order to lure him into a trap - just as Edward did when he set you on me, _young friend_. I know that you put the diamonds in my coat pocket on his orders."

The boy immediately dropped the spoon, stared in panic at the bowl in front of him.

"Don't worry, it's not poisoned." Oswald tilted his head with a quiet laugh. "Not that I haven't poisoned a man with food before." Three, actually.

The statement only half calmed Martin. His features were both hard and fearful at the same time.

"I didn't bring you here to hurt you, Martin, but because I am a man of my word." He waved his hand grinning. "Also, I want to avoid killing children." He leaned forward in his chair. "Think hard. What have you learned from this whole situation?"

His lips still trembled in uncertainty, but nevertheless Martin reached for his pad and wrote. When he turned it over, it said: _You used information to bait me._

Oswald proudly raised his brows. "Perfect, and you should do the same if you want to punish the children who bully you. Learn their weaknesses and use them against them."

Martin seemed confused. He tore off the top paper of his pad and wrote on the following: _Aren't you angry with me?_

Oswald puffed out air in amusement and waved a hand across the room. "Not at all. Edward can be very persuasive and you didn't know who your opponent was. But now that you do... it would be useful to know to whom you are loyal, Martin. Whose side are you on?"

The orphan boy didn't have to think twice. He grinned, and in reply, pushed his spoon once more into the ice-cream bowl.

Oswald smiled warmly. His heart was beating excitedly as if he had just won a custody battle - which was of course a completely absurd comparison, since this boy was if anything only a means to an end or at best a little diversion.

"Now that we are...", he tilted his head smiling, " _Friends_ , how about you tell me what actually happened at the orphanage?"

Martin squinted at the tabletop, seemed to struggle with something for a brief moment, which made Oswald a little uneasy. But finally he took his notepad off his neck, put it on the tabletop and began scribbling eagerly. In the end he had finished a whole picture story, separated it from the pad in the right order and pushed it a little over the tabletop. But since Oswald sat at the other head end and the table was the length of a king's table, he had to get up from his chair and hobble over to look at what Martin had drawn.

The first picture showed a stick-figure with a bowler hat, kneeling and with its head on the ground as if in despair. Above it a thickly bordered speech bubble with: _Shut up!_ There was no other stickman on the sheet. Did this mean that Ed had actually been talking to himself?

He turned the page, looked at the second picture and suddenly flinched, while his cheeks flushed with shame. The same stickman was visible, this time he had pressed his forehead completely to the floor. Above him was a speech bubble with the words: _We wanna know what his lips taste like_. Was Ed, and whoever the 'we' included, talking about Oswald? He wanted... to kiss... Oswald? The thought caused him to subconsciously wet his lips while a heavy nervousness made his heart race. A kiss was so... intimate. Apart from the little family kisses with his mother, Oswald had never kissed anyone before. The thought of Ed wanting to kiss him made him happy somehow, but also terrified him.

His fingers trembled as he turned the page and looked at the third picture. The stick-figure had not changed, only the words in the speech bubble, which were now reading: _We want him to forgive what we've done._ The shame exchanged with a feeling of sorrow. Edward had taken being kicked out by Oswald after the thing with Shivan worse than he had thought. But... He clenched his jaw. This was still no reason to frame Oswald for murder and disappear into thin air! None of this would change the fact that Oswald was angry! Edward could expect revenge! Never would he forgive him for yesterday so easily! It was _one_ thing to strap him into a torture chair and hurt him, or to try to kill a friend of Oswald's, but attacking his position, his reputation, his arduously built empire had gone too far!

Or maybe not. For when Oswald turned to the last page, he almost dropped the whole bundle in shocked euphoria. There they were, the words. The words he had been pining for since Barbara's comment: _Forgive me - I love you._

He smiled, couldn't help but smile, even though he felt he was about to tear up. He had to save Ed - no matter what it took.

As if in response, suddenly his mobile phone started ringing.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully in the next chapter Oswald and Edward will finally be reunited! :D And they have A LOT to talk about.


	10. The King and the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald's efforts finally seem to bear fruit when Kathryn Monroe invites him to her mansion, but Jim Gordon threatens to ruin everything - as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update - had some difficulties with the first scenes... Interweaving everything with the real plot is tough >.< But as promised Ed and Os will be reunited in this chapter! :D

Chapter 10

**The King and the Queen**

He tensed his shoulders, tried to pull his mind away from the drawn confession of love that had filled his body with new life like coals fill the steel chest of a locomotive. His heart cheered, under his skin the steam of an impatient longing swirled tickling and hot.

But now he had to focus! He had to try to kill his feelings for Edward - only until he had him back. He had to think clearly, act wisely, stay rational, not buckle too quickly. Kathryn had to get the impression that Oswald wasn't willing to do _everything_ to get Ed back.

He turned away from the curly-headed boy who had stopped eating ice cream, gave Oswald an attentive blink, who had just pulled out his mobile phone and led it to his ear with a determined look and drawn-up corners of his mouth.

"Kathryn," he purred complacently, clasping the back of the chair in front of him, in search of a hold.

"Jim Gordon has betrayed our cause - you were right after all, Mr. Cobblepot," the woman immediately declared without much ado, towards the end of her sentence her voice had raised in false appreciation.

Oswald turned his head to the side with a smug smile, the wings of his nose curled in relief. Gordon's obtrusive sense of justice seemed to be reliable. He never dared to dream that the day would come when he would be happy about this.

"Do you intend to betray our alliance as well?" Kathryn asked with a voice as if Oswald's answer was completely trivial.

"If you agree to my terms for this little partnership, I see no need for backstabbing."

"The release of Edward Nygma," Kathryn concluded, knowing full well that she was right.

"You got me," Oswald grinned and turned his chin.

"You will be picked up and brought to me so we can discuss the details of our cooperation," Kathryn explained without giving Oswald a clear answer as to whether the Court was willing to agree to his condition.

But he did not show how much this worried him. He puffed out air in amusement, squinted unseriously towards the ceiling while speaking. "When can I expect my _carriage_?"

"The Talon should be arriving any minute."

He lowered his brows. "So you've already sent someone in advance... How could you be sure I'm still willing to enter into a partnership with you?"

Kathryn emitted an arrogant scoff. "If you were to decline, all I'd had to do was change the objective of his mission."

She meant killing instead of bringing. Oswald's smile suddenly seemed somewhat clenched.

"I'll be expecting you, Mr. Cobblepot." The call ended.

With eyebrows raised apologetically and the corners of his mouth tightened, Oswald turned back to Martin. "Forgive me, young friend, but we must already say goodbye. Gabe will take you back to the orphanage."

As soon as he heard the word _goodbye_ , Martin's brows furrowed in discontent, the word _orphanage_ brought grief to his eyes.

"And when we meet again..." Oswald raised his eyelids in emphasis and lowered his chin to his chest, "you'll tell me all about your revenge." A conspiratorial smile carved deep dimples in his pointed features.

The prospect of another meeting with the Kingpin made Martin beam and he nodded twice decisively before he pushed his now empty bowl away and jumped off his chair.

Oswald accompanied him to the front door, where he gave Gabe the order to take the boy back to the orphanage - without the slightest bruise. But before Martin went along with the brawny henchman, he turned to Oswald once more and ran into his arms without warning.

The Underworld King gasped for breath, had to process for a moment what had just happened before he returned the hug a little timidly, a warm smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

A bit like an overprotective mother - a bit like his own mother - he waited by the open front door, watching Gabe take the orphan boy to his black 1972 Plymouth Barracuda and leave the Van Dahl property.

In the process, Oswald noticed a parcel carrier coming towards him with a box the size of an avocado. He accepted the green parcel and when he saw a green question mark under his name on the purple gift card, he immediately opened it in the hallway. He could hardly imagine that Edward, in the clutches of the Court, had the opportunity to send out deliveries, which was why this parcel must have been sent no later than yesterday.

Lifting the lid, he saw a small envelope resting on sea-green packing silk. He placed the parcel on a chest of drawers and took the letter out of its envelope, reading the question printed on it. _'Oswald, did you know that male Gentoo penguins give the females particularly beautiful stones as gifts to win their favor? Ed.'_

Oswald sighed, his brows raised in confusion. He did not quite know what he had expected, but it definitely had not been _this_. He felt disturbingly reminded of his first encounter with Edward and his trivial fact about how emperor penguins keep their eggs warm.

Still, his heart beat excitedly as he lifted the packing silk and took out the little black velvet bag that had been hidden underneath. He could already feel something small and hard from the outside and when he loosened the cord of the bag and poured its contents onto his palm, a hazelnut-sized, deep purple and eye-pure tourmaline appeared.

The jewelry store... There had been a deeper reason why the Riddler had attacked this particular location.

Not for long, however, Oswald could stare at the gemstone as his eyes filled with tears, obscuring his vision. He squeezed his eyelids together, pulled his nose up and pursed his trembling lips. His hand clasped around the small stone, pressing it to his heavy chest. "Ed... why are you doing this to me?" he croaked through clenched jaws.

How could he keep a clear head now? How could he act patiently and reasonably now? And why did Ed give him a present when yesterday he had gone to all the trouble of fomenting Oswald's hatred of him? He didn't know him like that - Edward had never been so inconsistent in his actions.

Even though he would have preferred to carry the tourmaline with him as a good luck charm, Oswald dropped the stone back into the little velvet bag, closed it and put it back into the parcel, which he then locked in the safe behind the round portrait of his father. He would probably be better off hiding another proof of his involvement in the jewel theft for the time being.

He then returned to the dining room, where he was going to wait for the arrival of the Court's subordinate. But that was not necessary, because as soon as he walked through the door frame, he saw a man in black at the northern head of the table. He was wearing a half-mask, had dark slicked-back hair, and was tall and of slender build.

At first Oswald had been startled, flinched with a squeak, but now his posture relaxed again and he tried to force a casual smile on his lips. "I suppose you're my chauffeur," he said, playfully tilting his head to one side.

\---

He gasped loudly for breath as the sack was pulled from his head, his hair sticking out from his crown in tangled strands. The rope that had tied his bony wrists was now loosened as well, and he immediately rubbed his sore skin with a soft hiss. What were these people thinking treating him like that!? He had not worked his way to the top of Gotham to be tied up and passed around every day like some ailing dog that no one really wanted to keep.

"Forgive the rude treatment, Mr. Cobblepot," said Kathryn Monroe, who sat at the head of a long oak table to the right of the mayor. Contrary to what she said, her age-stricken face did not seem sympathetic at all. She had put her head lightly back into her neck and lowered her brows, the corners of her mouth hovering somewhere between haughty amusement and millennia-old anger. "It could not be avoided." Her voice had that monotonous melody that was characteristic of her.

In response, Oswald merely turned up his nose, dissatisfied, and looked around the large meeting room, which had to be located in the middle of a manor house. He wondered if he was in Kathryn Monroe's townhouse – that which Jim Gordon had visited earlier this morning. Or did the Court of Owls have other bases after all, of which Oswald did not yet know?

"I'm sure you wondered why I called you here - after all, we could have discussed everything over the phone."

"Have you considered my terms?" Oswald interrupted before Kathryn could make her point.

The Court-woman drew her thin lips into an unemotional smile. "Once you've proven your loyalty, we will consider your terms."

Oswald raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "Prove my loyalty?"

"Exactly. Before we let you in on our further plans and you take your place in them, we need to make sure you're on our side."

Oswald confidently tightened the corners of his mouth, leaning back in his chair and carefully moving his injured leg over the other, interlocking his fingers above his right knee in resemblance to a businessman. "And what did you have in mind?"

"I want you to find and kill Jim Gordon." Apparently the detective had escaped the Court - typical Jim, slippery like an anchovy.

Oswald tilted his head to one side with a smile. "It should perhaps be noted that Jim Gordon has a reputation for dodging assassins in an uncanny way."

"If you're interested in the release of Edward Nygma, you'll simply have to be the first to succeed in his attempt." Kathryn glanced at Oswald's left side, where the Talon was standing that had abducted the Mayor from his mansion. She gave him a sign that consisted of a mere eyebrow-lift and the man dressed in black turned around and strutted to a high double door.

"As a token of our cooperation, I'd like to introduce you to an accomplice who has an old score to settle with Jim Gordon himself."

The door was opened and in black leather, with several metal elements on his shoulders and chest and a black mask painted with make-up, Nathaniel Barnes stood there in all his massiveness.

Oswald's eyelids shot up. " _Oh my_... the Arkham transport - that was you." But why Barnes? There were so many capable psychopaths in Arkham - Tetch, Valeska, to name two - what did the Ex-Captain have that they didn't?

Kathryn complacently tightened the corners of her mouth while Barnes stomped closer to the table and pushed his shoulders through. "Jim Gordon must be judged for his crimes," he murmured with sinister determination.

"I'm sure you'll get along fine. I expect results by tomorrow."

Kathryn rose from her upholstered chair and gave the Talon a sign with her chin. The black dressed assassin then moved back towards Oswald, who was already expecting the sack to be put over his head again, but before it could happen the double door was pushed open and Bruce Wayne appeared in the room with a panicked look and a hand to his nose. Blood was dripping from his knuckles, blood that was streaming from his nostrils, and his face was unhealthily gray. At first he squinted at Kathryn as if seeking help, but when he saw Oswald, he faltered, seemed alarmed, toying with the idea of leaving the room again but unable to make a proper decision, so in the end he just stayed put.

 _"Bruce Wayne?"_ Oswald frowned. What was the Billionaire doing at Kathryn Monroe's house? He seemed familiar with her, judging by his self-evident entrance. Immediately he remembered what his subordinate had reported this morning. Bruce Wayne had been seen pushing the petty thief Selina Kyle out of a building. Was he working with the Court? But why would he do that?

"Wait outside," Kathryn admonished in the severity of a mother and expelled the Wayne boy from the room before turning back to Oswald, a tense smile on her lips, brows drawn deep into her field of vision. "You have your instructions - Talon will now escort you out."

A good twenty minutes later, Oswald found himself in the courtyard of a gigantic industrial complex. No trace of the assassin anywhere, but Barnes stood beside him with crossed arms and grumpy expression.

"What?!" Oswald hissed as he pulled out his cell phone to call for a driver.

Barnes growled like a dog with an overbite. "You are a criminal and must be punished."

With a dimpled grin, Oswald tilted his head. " _How charming_. But for now we should focus on finding our mutual friend James."

Barnes snorted. "I find Jim Gordon..." And with these words he turned away from Oswald and stomped off.

"What?! Wait! Don't you dare just kill him when you find him! Call me," Oswald shouted after him, but it was uncertain if Barnes had heard his orders and even more uncertain if he would follow them.

\---

And while Barnes was miming the bloodhound for him, Oswald decided to delve deeper into the Wayne matter, so he met Victor and two more of his henchmen outside the hospital where Selina Kyle was treated.

"What do you mean you know _nothing_ about her condition?!"

The two gorillas he had assigned to keep an eye on Selina pulled their heads between their shoulders. When they started to speak, their voices were nothing more than a mumble. "We can't get to her - well - 'cause, there's somebody with her."

Oswald raised his eyebrows demanding answers. "And _who_ _is this person?_ "

"That, well, we don't know."

"You..." He blinked especially slowly, while taking another deep breath. "You don't know?"

The henchmen swallowed. "No. But! But that's 'cause this guy is protected by a bunch of nurses!"

"Nurses?" Oswald repeated, to give his subordinates a chance to realize for themselves how stupid they sounded. " _You_ let nurses stop you?" Perhaps it was about time the Kingpin cleared out his inventory of henchmen.

"I tell ya, that wasn't normal, Boss. Was like they were controlled," said one of them.

"Yeah, like hypnosis or somethin'!" added the second. "And we thought... maybe there's another hypnotist like this Tetch guy - so we better not go near him..."

"So you were afraid you'd be hypnotized as well?" Oswald's voice had climbed an octave, already indicating that he resented his minions for their fear.

The two men stared silently to the ground.

Oswald, meanwhile, turned to Victor. "What do _you_ think, Victor? Are subordinates any good if they defy an order out of fear?"

Victor pursed his lips, posing thoughtfully, and tilted his head, while a slight smile hovered over his lips, already hinting at his answer. "Hmm..."

Oswald grinned without waiting for a further response from the Assassin. "I agree with that. Take care of them, will you?" He tapped Victor twice on the shoulder in encouragement. "And when you're done, follow me to the hospital." He hobbled ahead into the building, while Victor, with a childishly cheerful grin, drew two pistols and pointed them at the heads of Oswald's subordinates, who, of course, immediately started begging for their lives, but barely got two syllables out before a clean shot through the forehead took them both out.

While Victor was busy lifting the corpses into the trunk of a car that belonged to one of the two men, the Underworld Boss already entered the hospital and immediately hobbled to the reception desk with tensed shoulders and engaging blinks.

"Excuse me, I'm in search of a Miss Kyle who is supposed to be undergoing treatment at this hospital."

At first the receptionist seemed a little overwhelmed to see the Mayor standing in front of her, but as soon as Oswald pronounced the patient's name, her posture changed abruptly; her face became expressionless, her peach-colored lips tightened into a thin line and she spoke with forceful determination: "There is no Miss Kyle in this hospital."

Oswald raised his brows in disbelief. The whole situation was rather suspicious. "Is that so? Because someone has told me that he saw her being taken to _this_ _exact_ hospital after she fell out of a window. Would you mind taking another look?"

Driven into a corner by this questioning, the woman's face wrinkled in anger and a threatening growl was heard in her voice. "Ivy doesn't want anyone to visit her!"

"Ivy?" The name didn't ring a bell.

A loving smile made the woman's lips vibrate. "Yes, Ivy is the best."

Oswald put on a false grin. "Bet she is. How about taking me to her so I can meet her myself?" Maybe she was indeed able to use some kind of hypnosis like Tetch? A second freak in Gotham with that ability could be very troublesome. And what did she want with Selina Kyle? Could she be working for the Court, trying to find out what the thief knew?

The receptionist pursed her lips. "No. You don't seem to really like Ivy that much."

Oswald shook his head in confusion. What did it matter if he liked her? No matter who this Ivy was, her use of hypnosis to turn strangers into some weird fans was definitely a sign of low self-esteem.

Fortunately, at that moment Victor came strolling into the hospital. "Any problems, Boss?"

Oswald spun on his heel, limping a few steps in Victor's direction to prevent the receptionist from hearing him. "Apparently, this person is truly capable of some kind of hypnosis. The receptionist refuses to give me Selina Kyle's room number."

"Shall I give it a try?" Victor asked with a euphoric grin, grabbing crosswise the two pistols he was carrying in a dual shoulder holster. 

Oswald shrugged his shoulders before taking a step aside, shifting his weight to the right to rest completely on his cane and raising his left palm to the ceiling. "Why not."

One knocked out receptionist later they were standing in front of the right room. The door was only ajar and a flowery, intense smell came out into the hallway, which made Oswald turn up his nose.

With a faint nervousness in his stomach, but a determined sparkle in his eyes, he tensed his shoulders. "Whatever happens, do not let her hypnotize you."

Victor merely smiled confidently and then pushed open the door with his index and middle finger.

Inside, a veritable jungle of potted plants awaited them, with a hospital bed in the clearing. Selina Kyle lay there like dead, only the steady sound of the vital signs monitor revealed that she was still alive under the thick veil of comatose sleep.

Next to the hospital bed stood a single chair, from which an approximately twenty-year-old woman with red wavy hair rose, who stumbled frightened towards Selina - obviously in an attempt to protect the teenager from the two intruders.

"What you want from her?!" Her voice and facial features were marked by a childlike helplessness that seemed strange to Oswald.

"Merely talk to her about a mutual friend - _Bruce Wayne_ ," he admitted without hesitation. The way this woman behaved, she could hardly be working for the Court.

"Bruce? Why? Did something happen to him?" She seemed a little worried, loosened up her defensive posture.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to discuss this with some..." Oswald let his gaze wander through the room, "crazy plant lady." He took a few steps further in, looking blankly at the sleeping thief. "What's her situation? I heard she fell out of a window."

Ivy hissed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Tché, I can't imagine that she fell. Selina is tough and.. almost catlike - never would she fall by herself."

Oswald remained in front of the hospital bed for a few more seconds, before tightening the corners of his mouth unaffected and turning back towards the door. "As she is now, she is of no use to me. Victor will give you a number - call if she wakes up again."

"Wait, wait! You..." Ivy bit her lower lip in an uncertain manner. "You're _Penguin_ , aren't you?"

Oswald turned to the woman with his brows raised. "And who wants to know?"

"Oh, um..." She approached him with a few steps and stretched out her hand with a sweet smile. "Ivy - Ivy Pepper."

Oswald lowered his gaze, stared critically at the hand, not returning the friendly gesture.

When it was about to become awkward, Ivy took her hand down again, intertwining it with the other in front of her navel. "Anyway, I'm currently working for someone - well, not at the moment, because I'm taking care of Selina - this woman - she's really cool by the way - and, well, she mentioned you - she also helped me to perfect my perfume, isn't that amazing? Anyway...", Ivy began in a confused flow of speech, which Oswald listened to with only one ear, because at the same moment a movement could be detected from the bed.

Selina contracted her facial muscles, wrinkled her nose and finally opened her eyes with a soft moan.

"Selina!" Ivy squealed and almost threw herself on the bed to hug her friend.

"Why does my room smell like potpourri?" grumbled the young thief.

"You're fine! I'm so happy!" Tiny tears glittered in Ivy's eyes - apparently Selina's situation had been very critical up to that point.

Victor mockingly pursed his lips, imitated a sad sob, while Oswald grinned contentedly and returned to the bed.

"I hate to interrupt such a _touching_ reunion, but there's something I want to discuss with you."

When Selina saw Penguin beside her bed, she mistrustfully narrowed her eyebrows, seemed ready to show her claws at any moment despite her predicament.

"I understand you were brought here due to a fall. Is it true that Bruce Wayne is responsible?"

The fact that Cat's eyelids widened briefly in response to that question was enough of an answer. Meanwhile, Ivy was gasping for breath. "Bruce pushed her!? Why did Bruce push her?" She snorted. "I already suspected it would end badly when you told me you two were a couple."

Oswald closed his lids in annoyance, turning his head almost stiffly slow in Ivy's direction. "Would you mind keeping your mouth shut for a moment?" he asked in a smug and commanding manner.

Ivy's lips closed almost immediately in an unnaturally fast movement and she defiantly puffed her cheeks like a little child. She was no longer a teenager who could be forbidden to speak! But although she thought so, she remained silent.

Even when Selina turned briefly towards her to snort in angry shame, "Bruce and I are not a couple," before turning back to Penguin. "It wasn't _Bruce_ who pushed me." She started ripping the cables from her body that connected her vital points to the monitor and digging herself out of the blanket.

Fearing for her friend's condition, Ivy rushed to the bed with her palms raised. "What are you doing? You just woke up from a coma! You need to rest."

"I don't have time for this," Cat insisted.

"Why not?"

"There's someone I have to kill."

Oswald lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully. The way Selina had insisted before that it hadn't been Bruce who had pushed her had given him an idea that would have been absurd in any other city, but was quite possible in Gotham. "You mean the boy impersonating Bruce Wayne who works for the Court?" His behavior at the gala, his behavior at Kathryn's estate, and now Selina's statement, all suggested that this boy was not the real Wayne son. But if that was the case, where was the real Bruce Wayne? And why did the Court need a copy of him?

"I have to stop him and warn Alfred," muttered Selina resolutely, while collecting her things.

Ivy threw up her hands. "I don't follow anymore. Was it Bruce now or wasn't it? And if it wasn't Bruce, who was it? And where is Bruce?"

"I don't know what he did to Bruce, or why this clone is impersonating him but I'll beat it out of that crappy copy."

Oswald interrupted again, presented a convincing smile. "Surely you wouldn't mind telling me what he said, once you've taken care of him." Could it bee that they had abducted Bruce Wayne like they had abducted Edward? Maybe they were even being held in the same place.

Selina hissed irritated. "What do _you_ have to do with this?"

"Something private." Not everyone needed to know he was looking for Ed.

Suddenly, Selina smiled. "How much would you be willing to pay for it?"

Oswald crooked his head with a satisfied grin. He loved how easy it was to do business with thieves.

\---

When Jim Gordon regained consciousness, he was sitting on a chair in a run-down courtroom, tied with iron chains. His skull ached from the blow he had received from Barnes and a creepy uncertainty tightened his chest even more than the chains did.

"I didn't expect it would be so easy to catch you, _James_ ," a familiar voice suddenly spoke and as Gordon glanced over his right shoulder he saw Oswald Cobblepot sitting on the elevated judge's podium with his legs crossed, a smirk on his lips and a small gavel in his hand. "I _actually_ expected more from you. But maybe our mutual friend here just got lucky." Oswald gestured across the room with one hand, and as Jim followed his pointing, he saw Barnes standing in front of a window with his arms crossed. The glistening white light that penetrated through the broken blinds gave the Ex-Captain an almost divine glow. "Who would have thought there was someone even more obsessed with justice than you?" Oswald grinned amused.

But if Penguin and Barnes hadn't been enough, Victor Zsasz was sitting on a table in a corner of the room, had casually lifted his boots onto the seat of a chair and watched the events attentively and with an index finger twitching with the desire to kill.

"What do you want, Oswald? I did your favor. If the Court has not reached out to you yet, it's not my fault."

"Oh, they have reached out. And I thank you for that, _old friend_. But..." He picked up the judge's gavel, spinning it in both hands, " _unfortunately_ the Court has also found out that you are working against them." He blinked twice in feigned sympathy, pursing his lips.

"You are working for 'em now."

" _Working for them_ sounds so... weak," Oswald said, glancing at the ceiling. "We simply have a temporary partnership until I get Ed back."

"You've become their henchman," growled Gordon. "In the end, I guess you will always stay the little umbrella boy who takes orders."

Oswald hissed. "Your attempts to turn me against the Court are tiresome, Jim. Besides, if you hadn't traded Edward to them, we wouldn't be sitting here in the first place."

"He got what he deserved after what he did," Gordon spat, but actually thought differently. No matter what Edward had done, no matter how insane he had become, Jim had once known another Edward Nygma, a naive and good-natured one, and therefore it had been difficult for him to send the former forensic scientist to his certain death.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Jim," Oswald continued as Barnes climbed up to the judge's podium. With each step he took, the metal clanked against his leather uniform like a heavy bunch of keys. "I always imagined your ending differently, but I have no objection to a little trial." He swung the Judge's gavel once and then handed it to Barnes, who beat it on the desk with stern abandon.

"For the record, the trial of James Gordon has begun. Nathaniel Barnes presiding as judge, jury and executioner." Another blow of the gavel. Jim closed his eyelids in agitation, trying to work out a plan to avert his killing or at least delay it long enough for Harvey to find him.

As Barnes descended again with heavy steps from the judge's podium and reached for a gold-plated blade attachment that had been enthroned like a goblet on a table, James turned back to Oswald, who, as if absent-minded, had just removed a piece of fluff from his tailcoat and flicked it off with a disgusted expression.

"Oswald, do you really think the Court will release Nygma if you meet their demands?"

As Oswald looked up at Jim, he appeared terribly bored. "Is this another ridiculous attempt to get me on your side, James? If so, save your breath."

"Listen to me, Oswald. You cannot trust the Court. They murdered my father and drove my uncle to suicide-"

Oswald made a grimace as he slid down from the podium and limped closer to the chained detective, to lean forward with a foot distance between them, snorting condescendingly towards his face: "Oh, _Boo hoo!_ Should I feel sorry for you now?" Oswald had already lost enough loved ones to easily keep up with Gordon.

"I don't want your pity," Jim grumbled sublimely. "I just want you to think about with whom you have a better chance of seeing Nygma again. The Court will just use you and then kill you as well. To them, you're just another criminal to cleanse Gotham from."

Oswald raised his brows in disbelief. "So you're saying _you_ can get Ed back to me?"

A quick side-glance at Barnes, then Gordon indicated to Oswald to bend down deeper so he could whisper the next sentence into his ear. Oswald seemed unenthusiastic at first about being so close to Gordon, but he eventually leaned down towards him, feeling the policeman's warm breath tickling his ear. A shiver ran down his neck.

"Harvey and I found a statue of an owl that shows a map of Gotham when light shines through. On the map, several locations were marked."

"And Ed could be in one of them," Oswald concluded.

To confirm his theory, Gordon raised his eyebrows, then grinned crookedly in a strange attempt to appear charming enough to give Oswald the final push that the Crime Lord needed to switch to his side.

It certainly hadn't been the grin - for it had seemed far too unnatural - but Oswald's facial expression suddenly became purposeful and he threw a meaningful look at Victor, which immediately made the Assassin beam with an eerie glow. 

Enthusiastically, he jumped from the table on which he had been sitting before and grabbed one of his pistols while waiting for a clear order.

Meanwhile, Barnes had mounted the attachment onto his left arm, building his body up menacingly in front of Gordon, while Oswald took a few steps back to avoid covering the line of fire. A last look at the back of Barnes' head, a broad, dimpled smile, then he turned to Victor. "Victor, would you be so kind?"

The Assassin tilted his head as he drew his gun, swaying it back and forth inaccurately between Barnes and Jim. "Who now? Jim or Judge Eye-shadow," he asked, having already forgotten Nathaniel Barnes' name - or maybe he just never really knew it in the first place.

"Judge...", Oswald started before he had even processed the stupid nickname, finally shook his head in bewilderment and pointed to Ex-Captain Barnes with an unnerved hiss and waving of his hand. " _Him_! Shoot _him_! _Now_ , Victor!"

As soon as Barnes understood that Penguin was about to betray him, he turned to the little Underworld Boss with a loud roar and raised his blade hand menacingly.

Oswald flinched with a panicked squeak, almost stumbling, but was finally able to exhale in relief when a shot was fired and Nathaniel Barnes dropped to the ground with a bullet in his head.

Almost at the same time that the shot was fired, the door to the rundown courtroom had been pushed open and no one less than Captain Harvey Bullock appeared in the room, with a task force behind him. As soon as the Captain saw Penguin and Victor, and Jim tied to a chair, he raised his gun towards Penguin and shouted, "Freeze, birdbrain!"

Oswald sighed and raised his brows. "Captain Bullock - always the last. Both in terms of your arrival and your understanding of the situation. _I_ am not your enemy."

"I wanna hear that from Jim." Bullock's eyes turned to his friend. "You a'right there, Buddy?"

The detective had a wry grin on his face. "Been better. You can put the gun down, Harvey. Oswald is telling the truth."

Bullock didn't seem too happy about it, but he actually put the gun down and told the rest of the cops to do the same. One of them hurried over to the handcuffed man to start unchaining him. Others ran to the lifeless body of Barnes, checked his pulse and called in an ambulance and a forensics team – only in Gotham a bullet to the head wasn't deadly.

"So? Where is this ominous owl statue now?" Oswald asked impatiently after Jim had been freed. But instead of the detective, Harvey responded to the question. 

"Owl statue?" With a stunned grimace, the captain turned to his partner. "You told him about the statue? What were you thinking?"

"I had no choice. If I hadn't done it, I would be dead now," Gordon argued without a shred of remorse.

"You had the choice to come up with something! I mean, a crystal statue projecting a map of Gotham is really not the most believable thing!"

"So it _does_ exist." Oswald smiled contentedly, turning his eyes towards Jim. "Remember, Jim, we had a deal. I saved your life and in return I get to look at this map."

Harvey lifted a corner of his mouth in amusement. "Are you good at jigsaws?"

What was that question about? Irritated, Oswald lowered his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because the owl went _kaboom_. Not even a psychic would be able to read in this dust."

"What?!" Oswald growled, stomped snorting towards Jim. "We had an agreement!"

"I never agreed to any terms," the Detective reminded him with indifference. Did he really not care what would happen to Ed? And why, God damn it, did Oswald let James Gordon screw him over all the time!? He had been so close! So close to winning the Court's trust and negotiating the release of Edward!

Oswald trembled with rage. Gordon wouldn't get away with it! Not again!

"Victor!"

He didn't even have to give an order. Immediately, the Assassin raised his two pistols, pointed them at Harvey and Jim, whereupon both officers raised their palms.

"Oswald, calm down-," Jim started, but it only increased Penguin's rage.

" **I will not calm down!** I've worked too hard to let you and your empty promises ruin everything."

Harvey narrowed his brows, leaned over to Jim and whispered. "What exactly is he talking 'bout? Is it still about Nygma?"

Jim tried an insightful grimace, lifting his palms a little higher and taking a step towards Oswald. "Listen, Oswald, I understand you wanna save Nygma-"

" **You understand nothing!** "

"We'll find a way, okay? I promise. I'm gonna visit Kathryn's mansion right now and arrest her so we can question her at the precinct. The longer you keep me from doing that, the less likely we are to take the Court down - and thus eventually free Nygma. Let me do my job, Oswald."

He hadn't made up his mind yet, when suddenly his mobile phone started ringing. A little worried, he took it out of the inside pocket of his tailcoat and swallowed quietly when he saw that the number was blocked. Without a word or command to Victor, he left the room and lifted the phone to his ear when he realized that no one was following him.

"Who's that?" he hissed nervously into the phone, while arriving in the deserted corridor of the building and hobbling towards the exit, because suddenly some policemen appeared behind him.

"Hello, _Oswald_."

He stopped moving almost immediately, gasped for air and finally pressed the phone closer to his ear with both hands. "Fish?" It was her voice! No doubt! In a natural outburst of paranoia, he looked around and then dragged himself out of the building on shaky soles, ran around a corner, stopped only when he found himself in an alley far away from people.

"Have you already missed me?" asked his former boss with audible complacency.

"I heard you were back in Gotham. What's the cause?"

Fish laughed throatily. "Tsk. Tsk. Not so fast. I'd like to meet with you. Let's say tomorrow, 6 a.m., 323 Murphy Avenue."

She hung up and he sloppily noted the address on a piece of crumpled newspaper he had picked off the ground and stuffed it in his tailcoat pocket. 

But as soon as he had stowed away his mobile phone, note and pen, he felt a dull thud against the back of his head, sank weightlessly and with spinning irides towards the floor.

\---

Finally! A minor inattention from one of his guards had rewarded Edward with a pin that he could use as a lock pick to escape from this over-sized birdcage - a ridiculously fitting prison, considering that the group holding him captive was called the Court of Owls. He would escape tonight, or this afternoon. He looked around the windowless cellar room. If he was completely honest, he had only a slight idea of what time it was and that followed the assumption that the guards brought his meals at set times.

"Do you have any idea who I am!? I'm Oswald Cobblepot, Mayor of Gotham, they'll be looking for me!"

Dressed in the same boring gray-blue overall as himself, Oswald was taken to the cellar room before Edward's very eyes and roughly pushed into the adjacent cage. The door was slammed shut and Oswald clawed his hands around the bars, yelling at the guards, who didn't care who this scrawny little guy was exactly, whom their superiors wanted locked up.

Edward gasped loudly, took a step towards the adjacent cage as if doubting the sight of his own eyes. "Oswald?"

Oswald immediately shot around, widening his eyelids as he saw Edward and taking a step towards him as well. "Ed..." He wanted to say more, but his voice did not know which words to form first. Too much had happened in the last hours, too much was still unsaid, too much still unknown. Also his heart was still unsure whether it should feel love or hate towards this man in front of him first, hammering from inside against his chest like a hungry woodpecker.

But Edward took some of the pressure off his shoulders when he pulled his face together confusedly and asked, with an almost dismissive coolness in his voice, "Why are you here?"

At first Oswald opened his lips a gap wide, then tightened his brows and shook his head. " _Why?_ Why you think? To save you, of course." Toward the end, his voice gave way to an indignant squeak.

"Save me?" Ed lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows doubtfully, then squinted just behind Oswald, then back into his face. "That doesn't seem to have been very successful, given the fact that you're locked in here."

Oswald puffed his cheeks in affront and clenched both hands into fists. "The way I see it, we're _both_ locked in here," he spat bossy.

Edward lifted a forefinger in a lecturing manner. "And _that's_ where you're wrong. Because _I_ got this." He pulled out the pin he planned to use for his escape.

Oswald slammed his jaws together. Was Edward trying to say that he was gonna escape and leave Oswald behind? "If you really think I'm just gonna let you walk out of here after almost costing me my Mayor's office, you're even dumber than your new nickname suggests," he yelled - so hate was to come first after all.

Edward scoffed, but the way his facial muscles tensed for a split second made it obvious that Oswald's statement had hit him. "Then why did you follow me all the way down here when I supposedly caused you so much trouble? Why not just leave me behind?" Without even realizing it, Edward had directed the question towards a very specific goal - he wanted Oswald to confess his love to him again.

But Oswald didn't get the hint, and once again he frowned in irritation. "That was not half the trouble you caused me. Not only did you almost cost me my office - because of your actions I was **chained to a chair** for several hours in the GCPD! And why?! Because you thought it was funny?! Because you wanted to punish me for **rightfully** kicking you out of my house?!" he roared, his face bright red. He had the feeling that Edward's presence had breached a long-established dam in his head.

Ed turned away from the smaller man, the fingertips of both hands joined in front of the chest. "I could not foresee what my appeal to the Court would lead to. I had to make sure you were safe and looked after," he quickly explained, with no discernible emotion - as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. No wonder Oswald was about to explode.

"Looked after? You call **imprisonment 'looked after'?!** "

"If I hadn't trapped you, maybe you would have tried to find me!" Edward hissed back and of course he was right, but in the end Oswald had still ended up in a cage next to him. He pulled down the corners of his mouth discontentedly, turned his face towards the wall, "But in the end - after all I've done - you still tried to save me. _Why?_ "

"What was I supposed to do, let you die?" It was as if someone had flipped a switch and all of Oswald's rage had died down. Suddenly his green-blue eyes regained that sad wetness.

"Actually... yes, that's exactly what you were supposed to do." Ed turned completely away from Oswald, raised both hands to his glasses, nervously adjusted the frame on the bridge of his nose. He had wanted Oswald to give up on him so that it would be easier for himself to overcome his love for his friend, but things had turned out differently. How was he to proceed now? Should he use a new strategy? Or had Oswald's stubbornness proven to him that there was no point in running away from these feelings? "You are extremely difficult to predict - more knight than king."

Oswald raised his brows in surprise. "Chess?"

That Edward then turned back to him took Oswald as confirmation. He lowered his gaze to the ground, his bottom lip trembling with shame. "That's funny, because... while you were gone, I somehow thought of you as... a lost queen piece. "

"Queen?" Edward's eyes widened. " _That_... is actually a nice compliment..." He fiddled nervously with his fingers. "Because... the queen is the second most important piece in the game and definitely the strongest and..."

"Ed!" Oswald squeezed his eyelids together, tilting his chin slightly to one side. "I know chess - I'm not stupid."

Hectically, the taller man raised his palms. "I know. I know. _This_..." He imitated with his hands a waterfall running down from his mouth, "just happens whenever... I'm nervous. I'm sorry." He rolled his eyes in self-loathing. Why did he suddenly have to act so stupid and embarrassing? As if his love for Oswald had somehow brought him closer to his old, weak self again - a thought that worried him.

Oswald lifted his eyelids in astonishment, came one step closer to the second cage, and was now standing directly in front of the bars. "You're nervous?"

Ed turned his eyes away, shyly. "A little."

Obviously Edward was not the only one who was overwhelmed by the situation, for an uncomfortable silence soon set in that neither of them knew how to break.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week we'll pick up from here! Because this conversation is far from over :D


	11. How do you say "I love you" for the third time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the joint escape, Oswald is faced with the question of how to approach Edward again on the subject of love.

Chapter 11

**How do you say "I love you" for the third time?**

Although the bashful silence was crushing, Oswald was the first to find his voice again. He cleared his throat, squinted with a faint smile at Edward, who still hadn't lifted his gaze from the floor, his cheeks covered with a soft blush, his lips drawn to a line.

"I received your gift, by the way."

That Edward then frowned confusedly, unsettled Oswald. "What are you talking about?"

"The gemstone? The letter?" Had the parcel not been sent by Edward after all?

Ed seemed to need a moment to process what had been said. He stood motionless at the edge of the second cage, the irises widened, but at some point he clenched his jaws with an almost whispered growl and threw his head over his shoulder as if a third person was hiding in the dark corner of the cage. " _You..._ "

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "Who? Wasn't the parcel from you?"

Edward threw his head around again, gave Oswald a tired expression. "Unfortunately, it was, in fact, from me." Inwardly he hissed at his weak self that somehow had managed to push his way out after the break-in at the jewelry store and leave Oswald this 'souvenir' ‒ just as he had suggested at the orphanage. If he tried hard enough, he could even see him standing in the farthest corner of the room, with hair neatly combed to one side, fingers crossed in front of his belly and an amused, silly grin on his lips. Dumb-Ed tilted his head, glanced at him with narrowed eyes and fluted _Don't you remember how **we** chose the stone for him?_ in his direction. It made him shudder, for he had been quite sure that Dumb-Ed had merged with him the night of the orphanage break-in. Had he now completely lost his mind?

Oswald had confusedly tightened a corner of his mouth. " _Unfortunately?_ " Did Edward perhaps regret the gift?

Ed cleared his throat, raising a fist to his apricot-colored lips and lifting his shoulders. "I..." He closed his eyelids and considered whether he should tell Oswald about his conflict with his weaker self. Anyone else would think he was crazy, but Penguin would understand, wouldn't he? "You can see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I?"

The corners of Oswald's mouth dropped almost immediately. "I must confess in all honesty, I did not miss the riddles."

"So do you give up?"

"No." He shook his head slightly while pondering, his eyes circled through the dungeon, which only light source were massive, owl-shaped candle-holders. "A reflection?"

An enraptured smile pulled at Edward's lips, drawing deep dimples on his cheeks. "Correct," he hummed at first, before returning to a more serious look. He had missed Oswald solving his riddles ‒ or even just trying to solve them. He deserved to know what was going on inside him. "You might say there are two versions of me... one is confident, flamboyant, intelligent and the other is naive, awkward, _pathetic_..." His voice had changed to a hoarse growl. "During my time at the GCPD, the strong, _better_ version remained locked in mirrors, but as time went on, he became stronger and was eventually able to take over completely and shut out the weak version."

Oswald pulled his brows together. "What are you implying? That you're not _Ed_?"

"At some point ‒ perhaps during my time at Arkham ‒ the two versions somehow became one. At least, I thought so, because... when you told me you loved me that night, while I was still with Isabella, something inside me shattered again. I started seeing different versions of myself again and-" He grabbed his temples with both hands. "I'm not one hundred percent sure who I am right now." If his weak self had indeed sent the parcel to Oswald, and he couldn't remember it himself, he had to be the Riddler at the moment, right? But somehow he didn't feel that way. He felt far too weak to be the Riddler. Everything was so confusing. How could Oswald understand and accept him when he was not even able to understand what was going on in his mind himself?

"You think your _other version_ sent me the gift?" Oswald seemed relatively composed in light of what Edward had just told him.

"Yes."

"Huh. Well, whoever gave me the gift, I was delighted." He smiled.

"You don't mind?"

"Should I? To me it doesn't matter if there are _different versions_ of you ‒ or whatever you wanna call it ‒ for me, any version is Ed. _C'est simple_ , huh?" While asking he had his head tilted to one side, the irises flashing in benevolence. Oswald made it look, made it sound as if Edward was the sanest person in the world, as if the existence of an alter ego that occasionally took possession of you was something perfectly normal and nothing to worry about. 

Edward lowered his gaze in embarrassment, couldn't keep the smile from taking over his whole face. How could he ever have believed he would be able to escape from this feeling and hate this man before him?

But in the end they still hadn't said it. They danced around it, but the three words had not yet been spoken. What were they at the moment anyway? Were they friends again? Would they become more than that as soon as one of them jumped over his shadow and said the words? By now they both must had realized that they felt the same for each other, so why keep silent? Why not just bury their stubborn pride? Oswald had said it the last time, in fact he had said it twice already, so it was actually up to Edward to say it now, wasn't it?

"I don't want to rush you, if you'd rather spend another night in these _extremely comfortable_ cages, _but_... if you'd like to escape anyway, I'd be happy to tag along ‒ I have an important meeting I'd hate to miss." An engaging grin was on Oswald's lips and he batted his black eyelashes several times.

The word 'meeting' seemed to make Edward uneasy as he lowered his brows and stared silently in Oswald's direction, which Oswald interpreted as a silent question.

"With Fish ‒ as unusual as that may sound."

"She's back in Gotham? Is she trying to scheme her way back into power?" Rather than worried, Edward seemed more eager. He'd heard much about Fish Mooney from Oswald, but he'd never been face-to-face with her before.

"Sounds likely."

"If so, the meeting might be a trap."

Oswald thoughtfully lowered his brows. "I doubt it. If she was planning to set me up, she wouldn't bother to ask me for a meeting. That way she lost her advantage. She wants something from me, but I'm not quite certain what."

While Oswald was talking, Ed had pulled the pin out of his overall, twiddling it between his thumb and index finger as he approached the cage door. He led his arm through the bars, but paused in front of the lock. "What happens after we escape together?"

"If you have the time, maybe I could use your help with Fish ‒ _we would be stronger together_." He shook his head, lowered his eyelids. "But of course, only if you-"

"Agreed." As quickly as Ed had spoken, one might have assumed that his survival depended on his cooperation with Penguin. This fact made him uncomfortable, so he swallowed, and adjusted his glasses before putting his hands through the bars again, but at the same time, whipped by curiosity, turned his head in Oswald's direction. He wanted to know if his friend was happy about their further cooperation.

Their eyes met and Oswald gave a longing sigh. How he wished he could just step through the cage and pull his best friend into a hug. But the events of the last few days, Ed's trap, the death of the teacher, Oswald's arrest, had changed something in him. When he now thought about hugging Ed, an uncertainty overcame him, a nervousness he had never felt before. Perhaps he would need some more time before he could meet Edward again with the same ease, with the same camaraderie as before.

Ed opened the lock of his cell, slowly pushed the door open so as not to alarm the guards and then proceeded to free Oswald from the birdcage as well.

Oswald stepped out of the barred door next to his friend. "With your very attention-grabbing debut, however, you have ensured that we must keep our cooperation secret from now on. After all, as mayor, I cannot publicly associate with a murderer."

"In addition to your office and your usual responsibilities, do you even have time to deal with Fish?" Ed smirked deviously. "If you're not careful, _I'll_ be taking over the underworld."

Given the fact that Edward had indeed recently betrayed the Crime Lord and Oswald's trust had not yet been fully restored, this may have been an inappropriate joke but Oswald played along. Doubting, he raised an eyebrow, a smug grin on his face. " _You_? King of Gotham?" He suppressed a giggle. "Forgive me, but I always thought such a position would bore you."

"It would, but someone must take over if you're getting weak."

" _How very nice_ of you to _worry_ about me, Ed." Oswald blinked several times in false gratitude, his chin slightly lowered.

Meanwhile, with one ear, Edward leaned against the wooden double door that connected the dungeon room with the rest of the building. He thought he heard a very faint murmur. Whispering, he leaned towards Oswald.

"There should be no more than two guards."

"I assume they are armed. Do you have a plan?"

Ed grinned, slipped a hand into his overall, grasped the dart, which he had also stolen from a guard a few days earlier. "Yes, I do."

\---

"Guards! Guards! He's trying to escape!" Oswald stomped and banged with his food tray against the bars of his cage, in which he was standing again, but with the lock open.

When the guards now rushed in, they saw at first glance a prisoner who was still sitting quietly in his cell. The other cage door, however, was wide open and there was no trace of Edward.

"Where did he go," one of the guards asked sternly, both had their tranquilizer guns at the ready, stepping carefully through the door frame and towards the empty cage from which Nygma had apparently freed himself and then vanished into thin air.

When the door suddenly closed behind the second guard, both men turned startled on their heels. Too late.

"Surprise," Edward whispered amused before he clobbered the second guard with a stool and the man fell to the ground.

"Don't move," cried the other guard, but immediately felt a pain as well. He panicked, grabbed his nape and felt the tranquilizer dart that Oswald had shot with the help of a blowpipe made of newspaper. Soon after, his legs started shaking, but he could still move a little, so he kept pointing his gun at Edward. His reflexes, however, were too poor to prevent Ed from ripping the gun from his fingers and knocking him out with the grip.

"Too easy," chuckled Ed as Oswald opened his cage door and knelt down in front of the second guard to steal the man's gun. They both searched the men for other items, but apart from a cell key, they had nothing on them.

The adjoining room was illuminated by a large window front, in the middle of which an expressionist glass-painting was resplendent. It pointed out onto a wide, but concrete-paved courtyard. The room itself was also quite austere. The furniture was limited to a round coffee table with a pyramid of canned beer and a full ashtray on its surface, two chairs and a key rack. From outside, the moon peeped cool through the window, spotlighted by the colorful neon signs of Gotham city. To the left of the window front and opposite the table was a metal door leading out into the courtyard, while to the right a corridor branched off into several double wooden doors, double wooden doors like the one Edward and Oswald had just stepped out of.

One look to the left, one to the right. Edward immediately rushed to the door leading out into the courtyard. But Oswald paused, his eyes fixed on the corridor. He remembered the room right next to the dungeon; a white door with a Plexiglass window led to some kind of washroom with a large oven. Oswald had been forced to change in this room and the guards had thrown everything he had carried with him into the fire. But everything that lay behind this room had so far remained hidden from his eyes.

"I wonder what is behind the other doors..."

Ed squinted through the window. "I can't see any other guards, but we'd better hurry anyway- Where are you going, Oswald?"

Oswald had walked up to the next door, pushed it open carefully. And even though Edward was anxious to escape from this building as quickly as possible so as not to be taken by surprise and caught again in the end, his inner curiosity ensured that he followed his friend, now standing behind him in the doorway.

" _Fascinating_ ," he breathed, while Oswald just frowned with distraught.

The whole room looked like a warehouse, but instead of boxes, there were tubular cages of reinforced glass, stacked close together. Inside them: humans. Or at least these creatures looked like humans, but their behavior resembled that of beasts. They banged against the glass from the inside, which could barely be heard from the outside, bared their teeth, screamed, and threw their heads around.

Edward stepped closer to the prisoners, peering curiously through the glass panes. "I wonder what caused them to behave like this." He once knocked against a pane, whereupon the man inside seemed to become even angrier. Completely uncoordinated he threw himself against the glass, drooling like a wild animal. "Truly fascinating..."

Oswald made a grimace. "I don't think I want to know." With his nose wrinkled up, he limped into the room. Had Kathryn kept them alive just to make them into one of those things as well?

"Since my conversation with a woman named Kathryn, I've had no contact to upper management, but the guards have often mentioned that the Court is planning some kind of attack on the city," Ed said and grinned broadly. "And I guess these are their soldiers."

"They want to destroy Gotham completely and I don't know why yet, but the Court is somehow connected to Bruce Wayne," Oswald added.

"Bruce Wayne?"

Oswald just shrugged. He hadn't yet figured out what connected the Court to the Wayne boy, but maybe he would get some information from Selina Kyle soon.

However, Edward seemed to think the whole thing was more of a puzzle than a real threat, as his grin grew wider and he released a breathed " _Interesting_ ", before he raised a hand and knocked twice suggestively against the glass pane. "You say Fish Mooney is back in Gotham and the Court of Owls is experimenting on humans. You know who immediately sprang to my mind?"

The realization made Oswald's thin lips pop open. "Dr. Strange." Now even he couldn't help but grin. Of course, the Court of Owls had Dr. Strange! And that's probably why Fish wanted to meet with him. She wanted Strange back, of course, so he could continue to create freaks for her.

" _Bingo_! If we find him, we could force him to produce an antidote, which we could then make available in exchange for more influence ‒ we could, for example, extend your office indefinitely or add a few extra authorities. And at the same time, we would have leverage on Fish."

"That does sound appealing, but we still wouldn't have taken out the Court."

Ed put one hand to his lips, thoughtfully tracing his Cupid's bow with a thumb. "I'll think of something for them, too. But first we need to know more about this drug that Strange has developed."

This knowledge, however, could not be obtained in this building, because the remaining doors only led to further prisoners, as well as two more guards, which Oswald and Edward could, however, neutralize with the help of their tranquilizer guns. The thought that they were the only prisoners who had not yet been turned into beasts was eerie, but they swallowed it down and left the building towards the courtyard. The heavy metal door, which was the exit into the city, had to be opened with their combined forces, but finally they were standing in the middle of the night on the crime plagued streets of Gotham. It was hard to tell where they were exactly, and the group of homeless people warming themselves in front of a barrel fire would not be of much help to them either.

"What now?"

Ed peeked through the streets before he smiled and walked towards a car parked across the street. He picked up a pipe that had been left beside a garbage can on the side of the road and used it to break the window and open the vehicle.

"That'll do," Oswald said with an affirmative nod and hobbled to the passenger side while Edward opened the hood to hot-wire the car.

The day had cost the Mafia Boss all his strength. Moaning, he leaned his head against the cool window on the passenger side while Edward maneuvered the car out of the alley. From outside, the eternal melodies of the city reached their ears and yet both men had the feeling of driving through a noise-devouring vacuum. In an attempt to break the silence, Edward turned on the radio; Radiohead's 'Creep' came out of the speakers.

Oswald closed his eyes as Ed began to sing along quietly ‒ like a lullaby, but with lyrics that were far too depressing and, for Oswald, far too relatable. No matter how self-confident and convinced of himself and his strength he appeared on the outside, his gaunt body hidden in fine clothing, his pointy, freckled face covered in make-up, in the end the self-doubts of his childhood had never completely left him.

"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control, I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice, when I'm not around. You're so ... special. I wish I was special. But I'm a creep..."

"Ed?"

"Hm?"

Edward's face was turned towards the traffic, which gave Oswald the opportunity to eye him; his hair slightly tousled, his eyes framed by dark rings, and yet a faint smile on his lips that highlighted his low cheekbones.

Oswald escaped a happy sigh before he let his gaze slip out the window again. "I'm glad you're back."

"So am I."

\---

It was just before midnight when they reached the driveway to the Van Dahl mansion.

Oswald snorted in relief, stretching his tired limbs. "Home sweet home..."

But the initial joy quickly evaporated when they both left the car and at the same moment Tarquin Stemmel came storming out of the mansion, a mobile phone in his hand.

"Mr. Mayor! Thank God you're all right. I was about to call the police." He stopped in front of Oswald, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow. "The door was open, but there was no sign of you. I couldn't reach you on your cell phone either." Of course not. After all, his cell phone had been destroyed along with his clothes and cane. A new cane of the same kind would cost him a fortune, but he already had ideas for the handle.

Only now Tarquin noticed the other man, who stood next to the Mayor at a distance and gave him a waiting look.

The Chief of Staff flinched, stumbled back a few meters and in bewilderment extended a hand in Edward's direction. "Mr... Nygma..."

Ignoring the reaction of his new Chief of Staff, Oswald turned to Ed. "I forgot to mention Tarquin took your job, Ed." You couldn't quite tell whether he was speaking that sentence apologetically or teasingly.

"I figured as much."

"Mr. Mayor... _sir_..." Tarquin scurried to Oswald's right side to stand as far away from Edward as possible, his voice lowered to a whisper. "I do not intend to question your judgment, but Mr. Nygma has killed three people..."

Oswald tightened the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry about that, Tarquin. Edward is not here to take your job back." Even if he thought he was the best man for the job, the people of Gotham might not see it that way.

"This is not what I..." Tarquin began, but Oswald interrupted with a suppressed yawn. He tapped his Chief of Staff once on the shoulder.

"It's late. We will continue this conversation tomorrow. And, by the way, I have a personal appointment in the morning, and I'll come to City Hall on my own afterwards ‒ so you don't have to pick me up."

"But Mr. Mayor..." Tarquin remained standing in the driveway with his mouth open and his arms outstretched, while Oswald and Edward continued walking towards the entrance. Tarquin simply could not understand why the Mayor still maintained contact with this murderer. If the constituents found out, Mayor Cobblepot's poll numbers might never recover from this. And why had the two men been dressed in these dirty overalls?

"You should not give so little importance to the opinion of your Chief of Staff, _Mr. Mayor_ ," joked Edward with raised eyebrows.

"I learn from experience. The last time I gave too much value to a Chief of Staff, it put me in captivity," Oswald replied in amused bite.

"Touché."

They entered the manor house and decided to first free themselves from the terrible prisoner clothing and freshen up. While Oswald let his body sink into the hot, cypress, jasmine and vanilla-scented water in the main bathroom, Edward took a thorough shower in the second largest bathroom of the manor house, before both of them slipped into pajamas and finally, each wrapped in a silk robe, stood facing each other again in the corridor, their hair still damp, Edward's glasses fogged-up from the hot bathroom air.

"Are you hungry?" asked Ed as he rubbed the steam off his glasses.

"A little, but since I was out almost all day, Olga didn't prepare anything. So we'd have to provide for ourselves."

Edward grinned. Unlike Oswald, who had apparently been fed by others all his life, Edward had no problem cooking for himself. But after his tiresome captivity by the Court, he had a better idea. "I was thinking more along the lines of ordering food. "

"If you know someone who delivers at this late hour, gladly." It was already half past twelve in the night.

"The time won't be so much a problem as the fact that we're well out of town. But I'm sure I can find someone."

It didn't take long and Edward had actually found a restaurant that still delivered after midnight ‒ nothing on the menu except fried chicken in various forms. They ordered two buckets ‒ one regular and one extra crispy ‒ and waited in the living room with a glass of wine.

"What are you gonna do next, now that you don't work for me anymore?" Oswald's face had twisted into a painfully contorted grimace as he tried to lean back on the sofa enough to stretch his right leg properly ‒ the pain from this morning had returned. At the same time he balanced his far too full wine glass in his left hand, the contents of which almost sloshed over the rim several times.

"Are you in pain?" Edward placed his glass on the sofa table.

"It's nothing," Oswald insisted, but his stiff face betrayed the opposite.

"I can sit on a chair, so you can put your feet up," offered Ed, but Oswald was quick in his opposition, had raised his free hand. 

"No need, Ed. Please remain seated."

Edward drew his lips into a thin line. Couldn't Oswald just give up his childish pride and allow himself to be helped? The only thing he would achieve by that was to increase the pain.

"As you wish," Ed said, but then he rose from the sofa nonetheless, which Oswald commented with a protesting snort. But instead of getting a chair, he returned with a cushion, placed it on his lap as he lowered himself back down onto the sofa.

Before Oswald even realized what his best friend was up to, Edward had already taken his wine glass from his fingers and placed it on the sofa table, only to grab Oswald's ankles shortly afterwards and bed the smaller man's legs on the cushion in a sweeping movement.

"Ed!", Oswald shouted protestingly and rowed his arms in the air, but Edward would not allow him to escape, and so Oswald finally sat on the sofa, facing his friend, on the cushion his ankles, which Edward was still clutching with one hand.

"What do you mean by 'what do I want to do next'? Didn't you want my help regarding Fish Mooney," Edward continued as if Oswald's brief change of position had never happened.

Grumbling because he was uncomfortable with the situation, Oswald reached for his glass again and led it to his lips. "I mean afterwards."

Edward lowered his eyebrows and for a moment there was complete silence. It was only when Oswald, in an odd mixture of giggles and hissing, jumped forward, placing both hands protectively around his glass, because Edward had very gently traced the sole of his right foot with his thumb, that the uncomfortable silence was broken.

"Did you know that there are about 8000 nerves in our feet?"

"Ed..." His voice was shaky, much too shaky. Oswald swallowed. " _Please_ ," he begged. Not only did Edward's gentle touches tickle, but they made Oswald's pulse jump. To be on the safe side, he put his wine glass back on the table, then tried to pull his legs back, but Edward simply grabbed his ankles again and forced him to stay in that position.

"They are also composed of 33 joints and 26 bones..." Edward pushed up the hem of Oswald's pajama bottoms, exposed his thin calf and the waistband of his black sock, which he now rolled down slowly while speaking. "Nineteen muscles, ten tendons and 107 ligaments."

As Edward's fingertips brushed against his naked skin as the thin cotton fabric unrolled, Oswald gasped loudly and nervously bit his lower lip. He could feel his cheeks heating up, his breath becoming agitated.

"Even a person who moves very little makes a complete circuit of the earth in his lifetime..." He grasped Oswald's ankle with both hands, then led his fingers down to his toes several times with light pressure. Meanwhile, he raised his eyes with a grin. "Fascinating what our feet can endure, isn't it?"

Oswald had stopped breathing. He wouldn't survive this.

Fondly the taller man let his fingers glide over the Achilles tendon, then gently circled the aching ankle with both thumbs; too gently, because the tickling sensation made Oswald's muscles contract and he reflexively pulled his leg back.

Ed laughed softly. "Tickled? I'm sorry..." Even though it would have been a good opportunity to escape the massage for good, Oswald allowed Edward to direct his leg back onto the cushion. "This is the first time I am doing something like this," Ed confessed with a shy smile.

Oswald turned his eyes away, embarrassed. "You can't tell." He pursed his trembling lips. "Tell me more..." Ed had recently mentioned to him that he tended to list facts whenever he was nervous and Oswald had to admit that he could understand why. The words distracted him a little from how much he liked the feeling of Edward's hands on his naked skin.

With the satisfied grin of a man whose entire body was driven by praise alone, Edward resumed the massage. With stronger pressure he alternately ran his thumbs over the ball of his foot, making Oswald sigh in a strange mixture of pain and relief.

"Foot massages can improve mood and overall health," Ed continued, mischievously raising his eyes to his friend, who was shaking his head with a smile.

Oswald almost gave an annoyed groan when the doorbell rang shortly afterwards and Ed wriggled out from under him to leave the room with a cheerful "I'll get it". Instead, he now lowered himself backwards against the armrest, closing his eyes as if by doing so he could regain the intimate feeling of Edward's hands on his skin.

He had to finally tell him; even if it would be the third time by now. But how?

As soon as he heard Edward's footsteps on the dark wooden floor, he sat up on the sofa again and put the sock back over his foot. Maybe eating together would be a good opportunity to talk about his feelings.

"They're bigger than I thought," Ed laughed as he came back into the living room, a bucket filled with fried chicken in each arm. He placed the buckets on the table in front of Oswald before he refilled their two wine glasses and sat down next to his friend again. "How's your foot?"

Oswald smiled shyly and turned his chin slightly to one side. "Better, thanks."

Edward grinned contentedly, then leaned forward and helped himself from one of the buckets, twisting the deep-fried chicken between his fingers. "Did you know that the Scottish were the first to deep-fry chicken in fat?"

Oswald was gnawing on a chicken drumstick, but Edward's question made him pause and wipe his mouth with a cloth napkin. "No, I did not know that." He shook his head. "How do you know all these things? One might get the impression that your head is an entire library."

"I... read a lot when I was a kid," Ed replied somewhat hesitantly ‒ almost as if he feared Oswald's remark had been an insult.

Oswald raised an eyebrow. "About chicken?"

"I... still read a lot. It's important to challenge your brain daily."

"Hence the riddles?" Oswald laughed, but at that same moment an idea popped into his head. "That reminds me, Ed..."

"Huh?"

"When I... read the newspaper this morning, I saw a riddle that I simply couldn't solve," he lied, his eyes circling to underline his alleged despair over his failure.

Edward's eyes had immediately begun to glow. "Do you remember the exact wording?"

"I do. Do you want to hear it?"

"I do." Ed placed the chicken leg he had just nibbled on down on a paper napkin and rubbed his hands clean, seemingly intent on concentrating entirely on solving the riddle. "Fire away."

"I think it went like this: what three words are said to much, meant by few, but wanted by all?" He had raised his eyelids in a telling way.

Edward chuckled. "This is hardly a difficult riddle. The answer can only be 'I love-'" He faltered when he realized what he was about to say. His mouth remained open, his eyes pierced Oswald's face with uncertainty, who was now tilting his head in a demanding manner.

"What is the answer to the riddle, _Ed_..."

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will Ed's answer be ö.ö?  
> Next week will finally be more about the topic "relationship" :D See you then! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I would be happy to receive feedback!


	12. Edward Nygma is a bad, bad man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One might think that when two people enter into a relationship, all emotional problems between them would be resolved, wouldn't they?

Chapter 12

**Edward Nygma is a bad, bad man!**

Edward downright jumped up from the sofa, limbs trembling with nervousness, face turned towards his friend, eyelids wide open. He fumbled restlessly with his hands in front of his navel. "Um..." If he could have looked at himself in the mirror – at this very moment – he could have sworn that he looked exactly like his old, weak self. Like a rabbit before a snake, he stood before the seated Underworld King and could not get the words over his lips, which both already knew they felt for each other.

Oswald stood up, and although he was a whole head shorter, Ed had the feeling of shrinking before him and his determined gaze. He stumbled back a few steps, bumped against the edge of the sofa table, but managed to regain his balance in time to avoid falling to the ground. "Os-wald..."

"Don't you know the answer, Ed?" Oswald tilted his head to one side, a sublime cunning flashed in his eyes, a royal dominance, which was strangely attractive to Edward.

He swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat up and his pulse ringing in his ears. "The answer..." His voice was just a hoarse whisper.

"Tell me, Ed."

"The answer – Oswald – is..." He closed his lids, took a deep breath. Edward finally had to stop being such a coward and tell Oswald what was up! "The answer is _I love you_. Words said too much, meant by few but wanted by all. But... I do mean them, Oswald. I... love you."

The pleased sigh that Oswald thereupon escaped made Edward raise the corners of his mouth and suddenly all the fear had vanished. Blushing, he lowered his glance as he approached the smaller man somewhat mechanically, who met him with some hesitation. And while Edward couldn't wipe the broad grin off his face, Oswald's eyes filled with tears of relief and he pulled up his nose with trembling, pursed lips. How long had he wished for this moment?

They both laughed as they raised their arms at the same time, struggling to find a position in which they would not get in each other's way before leaning into a deep embrace.

He heard Oswald shakily exhale, felt the smaller man's hands close tightly around his back; and Edward, too, pressed his friend closer to him, buried his face in the black hair, smelled the expensive bath additive and beneath it Oswald's very own smell, so strangely sweet and bitter at the same time, as if a vanilla bean had been soaked into a strong, black coffee.

For a moment they lingered in the embrace, which for Edward could have lasted an eternity, but when Oswald broke away from him again with a smile, his wet, green-blue eyes turned up to Ed's face, a new longing grew in him. With a nervous heaviness in his stomach, he moistened his lips before bending down hesitantly to Oswald, who then batted his lashes in bewilderment.

Edward tore open his eyelids when Oswald suddenly recoiled from his face. "W-What are you doing, Ed?"

His mouth remained open and for a moment his head was completely empty and he could not respond at all. What had just happened? Why had Oswald reacted like that?

Oswald's cheeks were deeply reddened, his eyes widened in shock. There was no cunning left, no longing, and Edward had the strange feeling of having crossed a line. But... they were a couple now, weren't they? They loved each other, didn't they? And a kiss was, after all, a sign of love and affection.

He stretched out his hand, wanted to calm his best friend, who then took another step back and was now standing beside the sofa, one hand clawed into the curled wooden armrest.

"Oswald..." Edward lowered his arm again, glanced remorsefully aside before clearing his throat, putting a strange professionalism to his features as if they were still the Mayor and his Chief of Staff. "If I have done anything to displease you, I am deeply sorry." He adjusted his glasses with fidgety fingers. "I must have mistakenly assumed that we were in a romantic relationship from now on."

The sentence had made Oswald raise his eyelids, his lips popped open, and he seemed eager to say something, but then lowered his gaze to the ground, pinched his features and clenched one hand to a fist.

Edward was extremely uncomfortable about the whole thing and he wanted to get away as quickly as possible to escape the shame of this rejection and the compulsion to maintain a calm attitude, but just as he was about to ask to be excused to his room, Oswald started to speak.

"Forgive me, Ed..." He shook his head slightly. "I _want_ us to be in a relationship."

Edward pulled his brows together, but he didn't have to ask because Oswald was already trying to explain his reaction.

He apologetically tensed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and then rolled his eyes in self-mockery. "I am probably still a little overwhelmed. This... isn't easy for me to have someone who loves me and... who I can trust." The word 'trust' sounded a little skeptical.

"You can trust me, Oswald," Ed therefore affirmed and tried again to approach the other man, who this time, to his relief, did not recoil.

Gently, as if touching fine porcelain, Edward put his hands around Oswald's neck, rubbing his thumb across the sensitive elevation of his jugular vein. He watched him swallow, his lips slightly open and gasped in surprise as he felt Oswald's fingers also, hesitantly touching his neck, tracing his larynx with tickling gentleness.

But before he could bend down to him and attempt to catch his lips a second time, Oswald broke away from him again, gave him an apologetic look from below. "It is late. We have to meet Fish at six in the morning and should at least get a few hours' sleep before then."

Ed lowered his eyelids, his lips tightened to a thin line in a form of silent protest, and yet he replied, "You're right. We should call it a night."

"Good night, Ed."

"Good night, Oswald..."

For a moment it seemed as if Oswald wanted to say goodbye to his friend with more than words, but he hesitated, paused in his movement and finally turned away from him, making his way with bumpy steps towards the upper floor. Edward was left alone in the living room.

In a ridiculous attempt to keep himself from thinking about what had just happened, or more precisely what had not happened, Edward cleared away the dishes and buckets, washed the glasses and polished them dry.

 _"What are you still doing down here? Come on... he's probably already waiting for you in his bed,"_ his own voice whispered into his ear.

"Didn't you see how frightened he was just now? Maybe he needs a little more time."

_"Or maybe he just needs someone to grab him and show him how it's done."_

"Stop it," he admonished sternly, but the voice in his head was just getting started.

_"Just imagine... his warm flesh under our hands. His wet eyes looking up at us - so fragile, so... willing."_

"Stop it!" He clenched his jaws snarling, clasping his skull, pressing his fingers almost painfully against his temples. But how could you defend yourself against something that was a part of you?

It wasn't fair after what he had done to Oswald, but it frustrated him anyway that his friend's trust in him was apparently not great enough that he could bear Edward's touch for long. How much longer would he be able to dampen his own desires so as not to pressure Oswald? How long would he be able to ignore the voice inside his head, whose ideas, though wrong at first sight, were so very tempting at the second?

\---

The next day, as so often, Edward was already awake before Oswald and that was only half because he was an early riser anyway. In fact, he didn't sleep a wink that night. The longing to just get out of his bed and sneak into Oswald's bedroom had been intense and he had had to withstand it until half past three. Until he lifted his tired limbs out of bed to dress for the day. As a symbol of his now official independence as a villain, he chose a suit entirely in a velvety dark green, a black shirt and equally black Oxford shoes, a bottle-green waistcoat and a white tie with thin black and green vertical stripes.

In the bathroom he washed his face quickly, shaved, brushed his teeth and styled his hair with a little bit of wax, but not to the side as would be usual for him, but in elegant severity to the back.

Before descending to the ground floor, he stowed away his small silver revolver and a jackknife in his suit, and a second, smaller knife in his sock, just in case. After all, they still couldn't be completely sure that Fish's invitation wasn't a trap.

On the ground floor he immediately headed for the kitchen. He had an idea how he could increase Oswald's trust in him. As soon as he approached, he heard someone working in the kitchen – apparently Olga was already in the property.

A cool expression on his face, his shoulders tensed and Edward stepped through the door frame, giving the poor maid, who had just been cleaning the kitchen window, quite a fright. Screeching, she dropped the cleaning cloth back into the bucket, which she almost knocked over when she turned to face the door. While turning, she had reached for the knife block, now holding a 15 inch meat knife with both hands towards Edward.

With an unimpressed expression on his face, he remained in the door frame, looking at the maid, who now angrily pursed her red-painted lips.

"What you doing here?"

Edward raised his eyebrows and tightened one corner of his mouth. "I live here," he replied coolly.

" _You_ bad man," hissed Olga. She had followed the news of the Riddler attacks, which had only confirmed what she already knew, namely, that Edward Nygma was a dangerous man. "Mr. Cobblepot fired you, no?"

"That's what Oswald did, yes." Without being intimidated by the knife or the maid, Edward now entered the kitchen and went to the refrigerator to take out four eggs, two peppers and a zucchini and place them on the sideboard next to the stove.

"So why you back?" Olga continued.

"I think you understood the first time, but I'll gladly repeat myself: I live here." He had raised his lips to a superior smile.

"Mr. Cobblepot know you here?"

"Yes – now, would you please leave me alone in the kitchen? I have a breakfast to prepare." His eyes were piercing, his features hard.

Snorting, Olga slammed the knife back into the knife block, then grabbed her cleaning bucket and quietly grumbled out of the kitchen. " _You_ bad man... bad, bad man. Bad influence..."

Edward merely shook his head in annoyance and then headed off to get two onions from the pantry, which he then placed next to the other ingredients on the counter. Perhaps he should ask Oswald to scold the maid for her inappropriate behavior. It was none of Olga's business why he was back at the Van Dahl mansion. She – a housemaid – was taking far too much liberties!

Humming softly, he began to peel and chop the onions into fine pieces, which he then steamed in a pan with a little oil. Meanwhile, he washed the zucchini and the two peppers and cut them into small pieces as well, and after the onions had glazed, he added them to the pan. While the vegetables were steaming, he poured the eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a fork, adding a shot of mineral water, then seasoned the mixture with salt and pepper and poured it over the vegetables, where he left it to stand for two minutes. While he waited, he put on some tea and prepared a serving tray. When both sides were sufficiently browned, he added more seasoning and then lifted the finished omelet out of the pan, to arrange it on a small plate, which he then decorated with a slice of wholemeal bread, divided into bite-sized pieces, two half tomatoes and a pinch of chives.

He then repeated the whole thing for his own breakfast and brought everything upstairs, including a pot of tea and two cups.

"Oswald?," he shouted in a subdued voice against the closed door, as he had no chance to knock with the serving tray in his hand. "May I come in?"

There was a muffled groaning from inside, then a rustling. "Yes," a tired voice finally sounded, whereupon Edward pushed the door handle down with his elbow and balanced the tray with careful steps into the room.

Oswald had sat up in his bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Four o'clock. I made you breakfast."

Taking his hands off his face, Oswald raised his brows in surprise when he saw the tray in Edward's hands. "You shouldn't have," he muttered, overwhelmed and with hot cheeks.

"May I?" Edward hinted with a glance that he wanted to put the tray on the blanket, whereupon Oswald slid back on the mattress to make room for him.

"Please."

He sat across from Oswald at the foot of the mattress and placed the tray between them on the sheet. "May I pour you some tea?"

"I'd love some." Oswald had lowered his chin in flattery, his eyes blinking to the man opposite him. "You wear your hair differently today. I like it."

"Thank you." He was pleased that Oswald had noticed this little difference in his hairstyle.

With a cheerful smile, he lifted the small black teapot, tilted it down to let the light green liquid flow into the cup in a slow stream. "In addition to caffeine, green tea contains the amino acid L-theanine, which has a direct effect on the neurotransmitter GABA in your brain, which in turn..."

"Ed!" Oswald had squeezed his eyelids together and led one hand through the air. "Please, in a form I can understand."

"Oh, of course. Green tea wakes you up, helps you concentrate and at the same time has a relaxing and anxiety-relieving effect," Edward summed up succinctly, while pouring himself a cup. "It is even said to reduce the risk of Alzheimer's because of the catechins it contains," he added with a broad smile.

"O-kay..." Oswald picked up his cup, blew against the steam and while doing so noticed that Edward was watching him closely. "Anything else, Ed?"

The addressed man bit his lower lip from the inside and averted his gaze, fumbling nervously with his fingers, interweaving them in search of a hold. "That was my way of letting you know that I intend to stay with you into old age."

Oswald almost dropped the cup. With red cheeks, he too turned his gaze away, not quite knowing what to reply, and therefore just muttering a quick "Thank you."

When they turned their eyes back to each other, and their gazes met, Oswald was the first to break eye contact again, looking down at his omelet instead.

"Are we going to meet Fish alone, or are you planning to take a few of your henchmen with us?" Ed asked to break the nervous silence.

"I left Victor a message last night."

Edward nodded in understanding. But he was somewhat disappointed. He had been looking forward to the possibility of being alone with Oswald in the confined space of his car.

"He will meet us on the spot," Oswald added after swallowing. "The omelet is by the way very delicious, Ed."

"Thank you. It's nothing special." A grin was carved into his face. Seemed as if he was going to have his alone time with Oswald after all.

\---

After breakfast, Oswald got up from bed and set off for the bathroom on bumpy soles to do his hair for the day and cover his tired features with a thin layer of make-up.

"Shall I help you get dressed later?" asked Ed, who now also rose from the mattress, the serving tray with the empty dishes in his hands.

Oswald's lips sprang open, giving his features an overwhelmed expression before he turned his gaze away from his friend and replied in a husky voice, "I appreciate the offer, Ed, but... I'll manage."

Edward was notably quick to lower the corners of his mouth. "Oh... I see. In that case, I'll just take the dishes downstairs." If Oswald didn't even want him around for something for both of them as ordinary as Oswald's wardrobe, then Edward's breakfast plan had obviously been ineffective. Should he approach his friend about his restraint? Because so far their relationship seemed to have had only negative consequences for Edward... Instead of getting closer, they had drifted further apart.

And while Ed brought the dishes into the kitchen, Oswald was getting ready in the bathroom. Absentmindedly he stared in the mirror above the sink, at his freshly washed and shaved face, his toothbrush loosely caught between his lips. What was wrong with him?

He lowered his toothbrush, spat the excess toothpaste into the sink and raised his eyes again to his reflection. With uncertain intent, he raised his right hand, placed his index and middle finger on his mouth, and slowly, very slowly, traced his lower lip. Edward had wanted to kiss him last night, hadn't he? He had wanted to kiss him and Oswald had panicked and fled. And now he could hardly be alone with him without getting nervous.

He squeezed his eyelids together, simultaneously biting his lower lip. What was he so afraid of? The last time he had felt such intense panic, he had been in the scrap yard in a car that was to be crushed on the orders of Don Maroni. The last time he had felt so helpless, he had been in Arkham, with Dr. Strange's device slowly melting his brain. But this time it wasn't about his survival at all, it was about something much more banal - intimacy. But Oswald was much less used to intimacy than he was to knives, guns and torture instruments. Until Edward had entered his life, he had not even felt the need to be with another person. After all, business came first, romantic love and dating had been just a distraction he couldn't afford. And what for anyway? Oswald had not seen the point of burdening his life with the existence of another person. He and his mother – that would have been enough for him forever. At least until he met Edward...

He put on make-up, did his hair, arranged it in a smooth curve and puffed it up at his crown before he entered his dressing room.

He felt the need to look particularly splendid in front of his former boss, so he finally decided on a black tailcoat with a finely worked-in dark blue brocade pattern and pointed lapels, a black waistcoat and suit trousers, and a white shirt. The outfit was topped off with a dark blue ascot made of silk, cuff links made of white gold and a white pocket square, also made of silk. And in addition, black polished Oxford shoes made of calf leather.

As he descended the stairs to the ground floor, he saw Edward and Olga hissing at each other with wrinkeled-up noses. But his appearance put an end to the obvious argument between the two. Immediately Ed shot around to him, hands folded behind his back, and smiled warmly while he praised Oswald's appearance with an appreciative purr. "If I may say so, Oswald, you look ravishing."

"Thanks, Ed." He lowered his gaze in flattery, blinking overwhelmed while deep dimples framed his face.

Meanwhile Olga had turned away from the two men and wanted to already leave head-shaking and with a grumbled "Plokhoy chelovek... plokhoy, plokhoy chelovek", but Oswald held her back.

"Olga, there is something I need you to do for me." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit trousers and handed it to the maid. "Mr. Richard, my cane-maker, will be here at eight. Please give him this note from me and also...", he left the room for a moment and finally came back with a small velvet bag, which he also handed to Olga, "this. He shall bring me the finished piece when he's done."

She pursed her lips in discontent, but replied nonetheless, "All right, Mr. Cobblepot," and then walked away. Edward followed her leaving with a piercing gaze.

"What were you two fighting about?" There was less curiosity than rebuke in his voice. Oswald disapproved of Edward and Olga's pointless arguments and so far he had always stayed out of them, but his and Edward's 'new situation' might demand that he forced a truce between the two quarreling individuals.

"She is displeased about me being back home," Ed explained with a tired smile.

"Then I guess I'll have to make her understand that your presence here is welcome and she has no say in the matter." He adjusted his tailcoat one last time, tensed his shoulders. "Shall we?"

"After you, _Mr. Penguin_ ," Ed replied in joking deference, extending one arm towards the door.

Purring, Oswald passed his friend. "I could get used to this."

A car was already waiting for them outside. For their meeting with Fish today they would not take the mayor's limousine, but the black Benz. It was a particularly beautiful old model, built before the war, with wheel suspensions at the rear and front, a long, streamlined body with protruding fenders and black leather seats.

The disadvantage of this car – at least for Edward – was that there was no barrier between the back seat and the driver's seat and therefore no real privacy.

"Where can I drive you, Mr. Cobblepot Sir?", the chauffeur asked with a slight bow.

Oswald closed his eyelids broodingly. His note had unfortunately been destroyed, but luckily the address had not been too difficult to remember. "323 Murphy Avenue."

The chauffeur held the door open for them and Oswald and Edward climbed into the back seat of the car, where Oswald immediately let his gaze slip out the window and apparently sank into thought. Perhaps he was wondering how to confront Fish and how to react if the meeting turned out to be a trap after all.

Edward didn't have to think about that. He had already worked out a strategy for about ten possible scenarios while getting ready this morning. He was therefore able to use the drive through the streets, which were foggy from the cool morning air, to eye Oswald. His tense posture, his back straight, his hands resting on the slightly spread legs, his right index finger restlessly tapping against his thigh, his lips drawn to a thin line.

Out of a sudden courage and an irresistible longing, Edward moved closer to his friend – so close, in fact, that their knees touched – and hesitantly put one hand on top of Oswald's. At the first moment, Oswald winced, but perhaps this was only because he hadn't expected the sudden touch that completely took him out of his thoughts, for he neither asked Edward to take his hand away nor did he slide further away from him. In fact, after they had stayed like this for about ten minutes, he even turned his hand around so that their palms were now touching and Edward could interlock their fingers.

As Ed briefly glanced forward, he noticed that the chauffeur had been watching them. He didn't like it – not because he was uncomfortable being seen publicly as Oswald's partner, but because he didn't want to cause unnecessary trouble for the Underworld King and Mayor. The more eyes which saw them together, the more likely it was that the press would learn of Edward's connection to the Mayor and cause a huge PR disaster.

He turned his face back to Oswald, who was still looking out of the window, still lost in thought, as if the cloudy city would give him answers. Did he care about such things? His reputation? His future in politics, endangered by Edward's presence? If so, he didn't let it show, for a slight smile suddenly lay on his lips and he tightened the grip around Edward's hand.

\---

Because of an accident with a van that forced them to take a detour, they almost arrived late, but at ten to six they finally arrived on Murphy Avenue. It was a simple residential area on the Upper East Side, not a place where one would expect to find the hideout of a criminal group. They stopped in front of the inconspicuous building, to whose porch a long stone staircase led.

A man with a golden retriever was dozily strolling along the sidewalk and froze when he saw Oswald and Edward getting out of the luxurious upper class car.

"Where is Victor? He should have been here by now...", Oswald grumbled, looking at his cell phone. No call. No message. Where was the assassin?

Meanwhile, Edward inspected the cinnamon-colored wooden facade of the building. All the blinds were closed, not a sound coming from inside. In the driveway parked a black Chevrolet with dirty tires.

He immediately shot around to Oswald when he heard his startled squeak, immediately reached into his jacket to grab his revolver, but stopped when he recognized who had approached Oswald.

Victor Zsasz grinned broadly, more than satisfied that he had frightened his boss by sneaking up on him. Who, in turn, was more than embarrassed by his own reaction, which he expressed by angrily puffing up his slender chest.

"Where were you, Victor!? I told you to wait for us outside the building!"

Zsasz raised both hands in appeasement. "Relax, Boss. I was just checking out the area." He strolled past Oswald and stopped in front of the building with his fingers wrapped around the straps of his dual holster. "There are three entrances, one through the front door, two in the back. In the garden behind the house they grow some crazy colorful mushrooms and stuff. And...", he threw his head around to Oswald with a grin, "a neighbor saw a woman with a flamethrower and a man with white hair and a glowing blue ruff."

Oswald took a step back, swallowed. "So she really is collecting monsters again..."

"At least now we know we're in the right place," Edward said, tensing his shoulders. The presence of Strange's monsters meant that three of his ten strategies were ruled out.

Oswald cleared his throat and tried to make an intrepid appearance before passing Edward and Victor and hobbling towards the front door. Edward followed in second place and Victor formed the rearguard, grinning and with both hands clutched around his guns.

Taking one deep breath, then Oswald knocked once on the white front door with the glass window, which was curtained from the inside. Not long after the door was opened. Oswald raised both brows, Victor tilted his head with a smile, and Ed wondered how both men knew the woman with the wavy red hair and the dark green dress with black floral pattern, who now grinned broadly and clapped her hands once in childlike joy.

"You actually came. How nice!" She took a step back and made an inviting gesture. "Come in – we have tea, if you like."

"I'll pass. Where's Fish?", Oswald asked with a superior smirk as he passed Ivy and entered the house, immediately standing in the large living room, which also served as the dining room.

Victor, who was the last to enter, stopped next to Ivy and asked with honest eyes, "Do you have any cupcakes?"

"No, but cheesecake – do you want a piece?"

Victor pursed his lips and nodded firmly before also walking past Ivy into the middle of the room.

"Is there a reason why Fish keeps us waiting?" urged Oswald and gave Ivy a demanding look, who was handing Victor a small cake plate and fork, whereupon the hit man sat down on a love-seat near the window, his shoes on the grey upholstery, his bottom on the backrest and forked the cake with audible pleasure.

But Ivy didn't even have to answer; she simply stretched out her hand and as soon as Oswald followed her pointing, he saw her strutting down the stairs to the ground floor: Fish Mooney. She was wearing a red-and-black corsage, with black, form-fitting trousers and a coat with a magenta plush collar, which was held in place below her breasts by a golden buckle. Her hair with the red strands was styled into an artful mane. "Welcome, Oswald and...", she squinted at Victor, raised her brows briefly in disdain, and then looked a little questioningly at Ed, " _others_. I understand that you've already met lvy." She descended the final steps and walked towards Ivy, who immediately had a happy smile on her face when her name was mentioned. With one hand Fish embraced Ivy's cheek, stroking her thumb, which was adorned with a long artificial nail, over the skin, which was reddened with shame. "Isn't she lovely?" Her voice was like the whisper of a proud mother. "Perhaps you might know my other friends as well," she continued, turning away from Ivy and raising a hand toward the ceiling, whereupon two persons came out of an adjoining room with heavy footsteps, Mr. Freeze and Firefly.

The former snorted at the sight of Penguin and raised his weapon threateningly in his direction.

Fish smiled. " _Ah_ , I forgot to mention that they don't like you very much."

In panic, Oswald lifted both palms of his hands and tremblingly gasped for air. Edward raised an arm protectively between Oswald and Freeze, remaining in this position.

Firefly also seemed eager to participate in the little threat, as she briefly activated her flamethrower and grinned with blood-lust. The flame that shot out of the metal tube was just short enough to not set fire to the entire interior.

"I see you still hold me responsible for the _terrible_ monster rhetoric I used during my campaign, but let me assure you-"

"You ran people like us out of Gotham!" yelled Fries.

"For once I have to agree with frosty-head," said Firefly and flashed her flame-thrower again. " _That_ _wasn't very nice..._ " Her eyes blazed like the flames with which she wanted to roast Penguin.

Oswald swallowed. "We all know I only said those things because that's what the voters wanted to hear." Then he threw his head around to Victor, who was still sitting on the couch eating cake. "What are you waiting for, _Victor_? Do your job! Protect me!"

The assassin quickly swallowed the last bite, wiped his mouth clean on his sleeve and put the plate on the armrest, before standing up on the upholstery and drawing his guns. Penguin should relax a bit, after all nothing had happened yet and as long as Victor was there nothing would happen.

"That won't be necessary," Fish suddenly admonished with appeasing gestures. "Kids, _please_ , put your weapons down. We're just trying to have a civilized conversation." She smiled as if she were above all things. With this little stunt she had made Oswald more than clear how things stood between them.

In fact, Freeze and Firefly obeyed immediately, and even Victor put his guns down as soon as Penguin's safety was guaranteed.

Meanwhile, Fish had approached the Acacia table that stood in the right corner of the room and pulled back one of the chairs. "Come, sit down, there's _so much_ to discuss."

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I want cake! >.<  
> Let me know if you liked the new chapter! :)


	13. Scheming, kissing and a stand-off with Harvey Bullock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fish reveals to Oswald and Edward what she needs their help for and learns something she really didn't expect. Later Edward is confronted with the question of why Oswald would consider adopting a child for even a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately a very story-driven chapter. The next one will be more emotional again - I promise!

Chapter 13

**Scheming, kissing and a stand-off with Harvey Bullock**

With a self-confident look and firm movement, Oswald limped the few steps to the table and let himself sink onto the reclined chair.

"You, too. Please join us." Fish had given Edward an analytical look, scrutinizing him from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, before she pointed with her outstretched arm to the seat next to Oswald, where Ed now made his seat without turning his leery eyes away from her.

As if to underline her superiority once again, Fish sat down at the head of the table, Ivy, Freeze and Firefly next to her on the long side. Victor Zsasz also approached the table, but stopped behind Ed and Oswald, both hands around the straps of his holster.

"Now that we successfully made up," Fish continued with a smile, taking a quick look at Strange's monsters, "we should get straight to the point, which is why you are here."

Oswald smiled cocky. " _My_ guess is you need our help to find Hugo Strange."

Fish returned his smile, but placed a mixture of pride and anger in her features. She didn't like being seen through by Oswald. "Someone abducted him some time ago and apparently went into hiding with him here in Gotham." She clicked her tongue to indicate her displeasure. "He hasn't kept his promise yet, so it's only natural I want him back."

"And I suppose..." Oswald let his eyes circle. He visibly enjoyed being the one in control, "that you want to use _my contacts_ to find the good doctor, yes?"

Fish twisted her head. She knew exactly what kind of game Oswald was playing and she would not let this little wannabe lead her around by the nose. _She_ had made _him_ \- not the other way around. And just because she was now willing to work with her former umbrella boy didn't mean she acknowledged his position as King of Gotham. They would work together as equal partners ‒ or not at all. But perhaps she could use Oswald's constant craving for recognition of his power to her advantage; because, after all, he was right, she needed his contacts.

An engaging grin lay on her face and she spread her arms in an accentuating way. "It is true. To find Dr. Strange, I need your help, _my little Penguin_."

Oswald's smile widened and he contently tilted his head to one side before he pursed his lips in a playful thoughtfulness, his elbows propped on the tabletop, his fingers intertwined. "But... what's in it for me? Surely you don't expect me to support your search for Strange without making a profit."

"Of course not," Fish whistled, pointing to the left side of the table, "you would be assured of the support of my dear friends; you will certainly find that their talents are of great use."

Oswald leaned back and crossed his legs, blinking defiantly. "Which would be...?" He glanced at Freeze and Firefly. "Granted... it's quite obvious for those two ‒ although I wonder why they would want to be involved in this ‒ but what use could _she_ possibly be?" By 'she' he had meant Ivy, giving her a condescending look that made her puff up her cheeks in indignation.

But she didn't have to defend herself because Fish took over. "Show my little Penguin your talent, Ivy darling."

For a moment she seemed to be uncertain, but finally a mischievous smile appeared on Ivy's lips and she rose from her seat to walk around the table and stop in front of Victor. If the Hitman had had eyebrows, he would have raised them now. Questioningly he tilted his head, but his smile could not be wiped off his face. 

Ivy plucked a little at the collar of her dress before she pulled out a small vial from an amulet she had worn around her neck, pulled off the lid and dribbled a few drops of the liquid it contained onto her neck. "Tell me, what do you think of my perfume?" She took another step closer, pulled her hair back to give Victor the opportunity to lean forward and draw the scent into his nostrils.

As if someone had suddenly thrown a blanket over his head, Victor staggered back several steps, pinched his eyelids tightly together before a broad, silly grin took over his whole face. "Smells great. And... you really are a beautiful lady."

Oswald frowned in bewilderment as Ivy once ran her thumb across the Hitman's cheek. "Would you be so kind as to point your gun at Penguin, Victor?"

"Anything for you, Ivy," purred the Hitman as if enchanted, before he actually drew one of his pistols and pointed it's muzzle at the back of Oswald's head. "Anything else I can do for you, beautiful?"

Oswald had gasped for breath with a squeaky yelp, and had completely turned around to Ivy and Victor, now raising both hands while he tightened his brows sternly, but not without fear. "Victor! Put down the gun immediately! That's an order!"

"Sorry, Pengy, but he'll only listen to me now - at least until my perfume wears off that is," Ivy grinned and crossed her arms victoriously in front of her chest. That would teach this bird to underestimate her! "You can put your gun down now, Victor."

When the Hitman immediately obeyed, Ivy used Oswald's visible fright to give him another smug "See?" and then returned to her seat humming.

Oswald clenched his jaws together, took a searching look at Victor, who still seemed completely out of it; his eyes looked dazed, as if he was on a strong drug trip, and they kept on fixing Ivy, while a smile of love lay on his lips. Oswald had known that this Ivy had mastered a certain kind of manipulation, but that she could make humans her servile slaves by smell alone and give them any kind of order she wanted was really fascinating. If you didn't expect it, then a smell was something you could hardly escape.

Fish clapped her hands several times, but less like a satisfied spectator than like an empress who had been watching a gladiator game ‒ in a controlled, slow rhythm. "Did I promise too much?"

Oswald tried an appreciative smile. "Very imposing." He didn't sound too honest. "But I must confess I already have plans for Dr. Strange myself. So why track him down for you?"

"That's quite all right, because after all, we _all_ have our own plans for Dr. Strange. As you know, _I_ want him to create my promised army, Ivy wants him to give her more power, and Mr. Fries here is _sadly_ looking for a way to reverse his condition."

"And what about you?" Oswald asked Firefly distrustful, who could only grin about it.

"I'm just sick of being told what to do and what not to do by people who are afraid of me," she hissed.

Fish raised her arms, palms of her hands facing the ceiling. "You see, we all have our own motives and yet a common goal. So why not combine our forces?"

"Oswald, I know this is a deal between you and her, but in view of the fact that _we_ are also cooperating, I would like to advise you to decline her offer," Edward said, his sinister eyes watching Fish critically. This woman was anything but trustworthy. There was something mocking about the way she spoke, the way she looked at you ‒ like a goddess smiling at all those people who believed they could bathe in her light with impunity.

For a brief moment Fish lost control of her features, her smile fading as Oswald leaned closer to Ed to get his opinion. "I see our own plan endangered by her. Once she has her army of monsters, she will be invincible," Edward explained in a lowered voice.

"You do have a point..."

"Oswald", Fish started with an evocative undertone, but was immediately interrupted by him speaking.

"Something just came to my mind. In fact, there are still a few families who have remained loyal to you and refuse to work for me. Make them understand that you no longer have any desire to lead Gotham and thus bring them under my control, and in return, I will help you find Strange."

Edward didn't seem to like the idea because he was opening his mouth in disbelief. Even Fish seemed willing to protest at first. But eventually she smiled and, in feigned obedience, replied, " _Of course_." Then she turned her gaze to Edward, scrutinizing him thoughtfully ‒ this man at Oswald's side, who whispered in his ear and thus undermined her plans. She recognized him ‒ or at least she thought she recognized him ‒ but why did he cooperate with Oswald? What was _his_ goal?

Self-satisfied, Oswald straightened his tailcoat, closed the middle button, which he had opened while sitting, and went into an upright position. "Then it's decided. I'll get back to you as soon as I know where Strange is."

"May I ask you something personal?" Fish had lowered her brows, her gaze was inquiring, and at the first moment Oswald felt he'd exposed a weakness, so he replied reluctantly, "What kind of question would that be?"

Her gaze fell back on Edward. "Isn't this the overzealous puppy who recently announced on television that he is looking for a Court that rules Gotham? What exactly ties you to him?" If she had seen that, then Fish had actually been in Gotham for a few days.

Oswald gulped, did not quite know what to say at first. "As you may also have gathered, Ed here was my chief of staff before he... went his own way." You could hear that he was not entirely happy with that, but only Edward knew that this was solely due to the circumstances that had driven him to break away from Oswald like that. "He no longer supports me in my political activities, but our cooperation on the... _more profitable_ side of Gotham continues."

Fish crossed her legs, one hand resting on her chin. "And what does he personally gain by supporting you?" Could he be playing a double-cross with Oswald to end up on his throne?

"I don't think it's necessary for our cooperation that you-" Oswald began in a cautionary tone, but Edward interrupted him.

"Anything that benefits Oswald benefits me."

"Does it?" Fish was perceptive, but she was still unable to see behind Edward's words, spoken in playful hostility. "And the odds of me betraying my Penguin are greater than the odds of you doing so? Especially in view of the fact that you have apparently turned your back on him before." She looked at Oswald, had lifted her eyelids as if she could not believe that he himself did not recognize what was so obvious to her.

It was clear to Edward that she was trying to drive a wedge between the two men. All the more he was tempted to participate in her little game.

He smiled. " _Exactly_."

Oswald found the conversation between the two somewhat unsettling, so he cleared his throat and, with both hands on the table, exclaimed, "Edward is the only person in Gotham I can truly trust." He hoped that would be the end of it, but Fish just seemed more confused.

"No one _in Gotham_ can be trusted," she replied with an amused snort. Shouldn't Oswald, especially Oswald, know this? After all, he himself once played the role of the insidious snake and betrayed the trust of so many people.

"Sounds like a principle that leads to loneliness," said Ed, raising his eyebrows in a challenging manner. For him, too, there was only one person in this entire city he could trust ‒ and that's why he was more than happy to have found him.

"I'm anything but lonely, darling." Her eyes didn't sparkle, her lips rested hard on each other. This was no longer a conversation about who Oswald could trust more; now it was a struggle for dignity. "I have a family of friends, and with a snap of my fingers I have more men than I can bear."

Ed's grin widened. "And yet no one who loves you unconditionally."

Fish growled, let Edward lure her out of her reserve.

Oswald was the one who tried to settle the pointless argument, which he no longer knew how it had even begun. "I think that's plenty."

In fact, Edward then leaned back in his chair with a winning smile and Fish calmed down, went over the conversation in her mind, which resulted in her eyelashes fluttering in surprise. "Ooh, is it possible...?" She smiled, giving Oswald an incredulous yet amused look.

"What?" he replied harshly.

Fish waved her long artificial nail back and forth between Edward and Oswald. "This is... unexpected. To be honest, I always thought you were a bit... well, slow in that regard. So..." She spread her arms. " _Congratulations._ There's a lid for every pot." Her amused smile took all sincerity from her words.

Oswald drew his lips into a narrow line, tightened his jaws. Even though Edward was still smiling, Oswald suddenly felt as if he had lost strength by revealing their relationship. He nevertheless forced himself to smile smugly, tilted his head to one side and gave a sublime "Thank you".

That was the moment when one of the back doors was pushed open and Selina Kyle came into the living room with an exhausted moan and threw herself on the couch with another one, her legs raised on the coffee table, elbows resting casually on the backrest.

Without words all eyes were on the young thief, who only now looked at the table and raised her brows questioningly. "What?" Obviously, it was no surprise to her to find Penguin, Riddler and Victor Zsasz in the lair.

"Selina, welcome back," Fish said with a warm smile. "Did you do as I asked?"

The thief raised her hand somewhat pissed. "I followed Jim Gordon and saw him arrest a blond old lady. Apparently someone named Kathryn Monroe. I searched her house afterwards but didn't find anything useful there."

Fish sat back in her chair, brooding. "Kathryn Monroe..." The name was ringing a bell, but she couldn't remember.

"She is leader of the Court of Owls. The Court is probably also the one responsible for kidnapping Strange," Oswald explained.

"He is creating a drug for them that turns humans into aggressive beasts," Ed added with an excited sparkle in his eyes. "Unfortunately, we do not yet know exactly what this drug is."

Meanwhile, Selina had got up from the couch and strolled towards Penguin. "Hey, you still owe me money ‒ for taking care of that clone."

Oswald cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "Well, I don't remember you giving me any information on Bruce Wayne and his clone."

Selina crossed her arms in front of her chest. "The clone didn't talk. I fought him, but he escaped when Alfred joined us."

"That certainly isn't worth a penny."

Selina sighed, rolling her eyes. " _Fine_. Whatever. It's more fun working for Fish anyway." She lowered herself onto the chair beside Edward, arms still crossed over her chest. "But don't come asking me for help if any of you need to escape from Arkham again, or any other shit." She sneered. "I have a new family now, and blood is thicker than water."

"Well said, baby-girl," praised Fish.

Edward, unimpressed, raised the corners of his mouth. "Your escape plan from Arkham was second-rate at best. Besides, are you aware that this proverb is being used completely wrong these days? It probably originated in pre-Christian times and referred to the sealing of contracts with the use of animal blood. In fact, the meaning of the proverb is the exact opposite. The bond of a _blood contract_ was considered stronger than _the_ _birth water_."

Selina had her brows furrowed. " _Gee_ , who cares? You know what I mean."

Edward turned with an amused smile to Oswald, but the latter did not return his gaze, instead he stared at the tabletop, which worried Ed. "What is it, Oswald?"

Being addressed, Oswald shook his head slightly. "It's nothing. I just remembered something." All that talk about blood had reminded him of the blood vial that Oswald's henchmen said Jim Gordon had picked up together with a folder from an industrial complex outside downtown. That and the mention of Arkham had made him immediately think of Tetch; Tetch and his sister's virus-blood, which could also alter people. What if that was what Dr. Strange was working with at the moment?

Since this could help them rather than Fish, he decided to keep the assumption to himself. Maybe he and Edward should pay Tetch a visit and ask him _politely_ about an antidote for the blood? Perhaps Dr. Strange had changed the mixture, modified it, amplified it, but the basic component would still be the same.

"I remembered that I still have some mayoral duties, so we'll say goodbye. I'll contact you as soon as I hear from Strange."

"All right..." Fish replied, but she seemed mistrustful.

One look at the silly grinning Victor, then Oswald turned to Ivy. "Would you please tell him to go home?"

\---

She fulfilled his wish and Victor left the building unwillingly and not without a heartbreaking farewell from Ivy; he was followed by Edward and Oswald, who did not start talking again until they entered the back seat of the black Benz.

"You're not really gonna share Strange with Fish, are you?"

Oswald grinned, crossed his legs and glided his gaze out the window. "Of course not. We'll only use their help until we get to him."

Ed also looked out the window. "You didn't like that I revealed our relationship to Fish." A sober statement, yet with pain in his voice.

"I actually would have preferred we kept this information to ourselves for now, so as not to give Fish any leverage." A ponderous look at Ed, a shrug of the hand, but he didn't dare, so he turned back to the window.

"Only those who play with their cards on the table cannot be blackmailed by their allies."

"Except we're not playing, and I don't want to risk losing you, Ed." He turned back to him and at the same moment Ed turned his gaze. He looked so determined, so fearless that Oswald felt a nervous tingle.

"This is a risk you will have to take if you want to be with me," Ed said in a husky whisper.

Oswald gulped. Perhaps now would have been the ideal moment to lean forward and he even thought he saw Edward wet his lips absently, but instead Oswald cleared his throat and squinted at the ceiling of the car. He could still convince himself that the only reason he hadn't leaned forward was because they weren't in complete privacy ‒ it wasn't _just_ the anxious throb of his heart.

"The drug that Dr. Strange is working on could be a variant of the Tetch-blood."

Only for a brief moment Edward seemed disappointed, then he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Interesting thought ‒ how did you come up with that?"

"The effect is similar and my henchmen saw Jim Gordon with a blood vial ‒ he was leaving an industrial park."

Ed clasped his chin thoughtfully. "But how would the Court of Owls have gotten their hands on the blood? They would at least require access to someone already infected."

"Barnes!" exclaimed Oswald. Now he finally understood the role of the ex-captain! "The Court has freed Barnes from Arkham."

Ed smiled. " _Those sneaky little buggers_. Say, Oswald, you wouldn't happen to remember where that industrial park was, would you?"

"I do, in fact..." Oswald returned the grin. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd like to have a little peek around the place."

\---

Actually, Oswald had thought they would go together, but Edward was right: Oswald could not neglect his duties and if Jim Gordon could enter and leave the place completely unharmed, Edward would be able to do so as well.

"Take care" Oswald put a hand on his friend's shoulder, fingers twitching insecurely, but finally closing tightly around the dark green fabric. "Are you sure you don't want me to send someone to help you?"

"I'll be fine."

Oswald took his hand down but stayed put, squinting briefly at the floor and then up to Edward who freed him from this cycle of nervousness by asking with a smile, "A hug?"

Oswald puffed out the air laughing ‒ mainly at his own fear ‒ and then nodded affirmatively. "A hug."

But when Ed leaned down, put his arms around him, and Oswald, too, leaned into the hug on tiptoe, smiling contentedly against the fabric of Edward's jacket, an unusual courage grew in him, and so he gave Ed a soft kiss on the cheek before they separated again. 

One last, swamped smile, then Oswald turned to leave, leaving Edward standing in front of the entrance to the industrial park with burning cheeks and one hand on the invisible mark that Oswald had left him. Now that was something _he_ had not expected.

\---

On the way to City Hall, he had told Gabe to use all contacts within the GCPD to find out the current state of investigation on the Court of Owls. With the support of the commissioner, he could have simply forced the GCPD in his role as mayor to provide him with all the necessary information, but considering that he was about to be interviewed by Margarete Hearst, perhaps this would have been too direct an approach.

Upon his arrival at City Hall, Tarquin had immediately caught him, telling him that his interview would take place in just a few days and that it was now more important than ever to get good publicity. They would therefore visit the Kapelput orphanage today to meet the press for photos and to give an insight into the current development of the orphanage. Oswald was just happy that Tarquin didn't say a word about Edward.

But before visiting the orphanage, Oswald had an appointment with an engineering company called 'Meyer and Hayes', whose goal was to obtain financial support for a current project. The company's CEO, Allan Hayes himself, presented the promising idea of one of his star engineers, Xander Wilde, to modernize Gotham's power grid using advanced, self-sustaining generators. All that was missing to realize this technology was supposedly sufficient funding.

Oswald was not an engineer, but 'self-sustaining generators' sounded a bit too good to be true, so he suggested to Allan Hayes that he would have a look at the papers on the generators and see if this invention really had a future ‒ because he didn't want to invest in mere fantasies.

When he finally arrived at the orphanage with Tarquin, where a huge crowd of journalists had already gathered, he still hadn't heard a word from Edward and was beginning to worry. But he wanted to trust him, so he decided not to bombard Ed with calls and messages, even though it was hard for him, but to concentrate on his work instead. And as planned, his speech was met with great applause, especially as he used the opportunity of talking about the tiny break-in at the orphanage as a bridge to announce the hopeful message that Gotham's crime rate was at its lowest level since the beginning of its monitoring.

After the speech, there was still time to take a tour of the building ‒ taking photos with selected children (only the good-looking ones with white teeth and doll's eyes), answering small questions about the facility and the children's education, and finally announcing a new program to support orphanages that required the help of all parents in Gotham; they were to stop throwing away their children's old toys and instead hand them over to designated drop-off points, where they were then distributed fairly among all the surrounding orphanages. Raging applause, beaming faces. Good publicity was easy when you had a few children available. In peaceful times children and seniors, in turbulent times a quick culprit and simple solutions ‒ the recipe for every successful politician.

At some point, Oswald let Tarquin have his say ‒ the man seemed eager to be in the limelight anyway ‒ and instead he retreated to an office room where, sighing, he lowered himself against the massive desk and pulled his cell phone out of his tailcoat. No call, no message. He clicked his tongue impatiently, tapped the frame of the mobile phone several times and finally let it disappear back into his inside pocket. He had to be patient.

As if someone up there had heard his longing for distraction, there was a knock on the door shortly afterwards, and with Oswald's approval, the handle was pushed down and Martin appeared in the doorway with a smile.

"Martin. When I didn't see you with the other children, I began to wonder where you were."

The boy stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and took the few steps over to Oswald to hop onto the upholstered chair directly in front of him and dangle his legs.

"Tell me, young friend, have you carried out your revenge yet?"

Martin grinned mischievously, then nodded, which also made Oswald grin broadly.

"So the other children will leave you alone from now on?"

Another nod. Oswald was impressed.

He leaned further back on the tabletop, had loosely crossed both legs. "Then hopefully your life here has improved considerably and nothing more stands in the way of a great future," he said with a warm laugh, whereupon Martin suddenly let the corners of his mouth drop. Had Oswald said something wrong?

The orphaned boy seemed unsure whether he should reveal what was troubling him, as he thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip and fumbled on the paper of his notebook.

"What is it, Martin? Is there anyone else who treats you ill," Oswald asked worriedly, leaning down to his young friend and putting a hand on his shoulder. If it was an adult, Oswald would see to it that he was punished _appropriately_.

But contrary to his expectations, Martin shook his head and then began writing. As he turned the notebook over, it said, ′Must I stay here?′.

Oswald's lips popped open like a fish on land and he didn't know what to say back. A nervous laugh slipped from his throat, followed by a shaky smile. "Well," he once struck the tabletop with his flat hand in feigned determination, "of course there is still the hope of adoption ‒ from a family that takes good care of you. In which case, we might not be able to see each other again, but-"

A decisive shake of Martin's head. Oswald's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Wouldn't you like that? A life away from this orphanage, with a mother and father who love you." He could hardly banish from his voice the pain that an adoption of Martin would cause him. They hadn't known each other for very long, but Oswald had already grown fond of the little orphan boy ‒ like a puppy that you once held in your arms and don't want to give back, or even like the little bundle of a newborn baby that you don't want to let out of your sight. He shook himself inwardly at this silly comparison.

"Suppose you could have anything you wanted. What would you choose?" Oswald decided to memorize this question and later ask Edward the same thing. What would _he_ choose? For Oswald, the answer was simple: him and Edward reigning over Gotham together.

Martin too seemed to know immediately what he would wish for, for he began to draw eagerly and the result made Oswald gasp for breath, while his eyes instantly filled with water and his heart pounded against his chest without any rhythm. On the picture were two people ‒ stick figures, a small and a larger one ‒ holding hands, and while under the small stick figure was written ′Me′, under the larger one was written ′You′.

What was he supposed to say? The truth? What was the truth? That he ‒ at least in a short moment of weakness ‒ had already had a similar thought? But would he really be able to take care of a child? _He_? Would it be fair to drag a _comparatively_ innocent child into his world?

He still had some time to ponder further, as there was another knock at the door. And while Oswald was still rubbing his wet eyes dry with his hands, Tarquin Stemmel entered the room, first giving Martin a perplexed look and then the obviously sentimental mayor. "Here you are, Mr. Mayor. I've been looking for you. Would you like to return to City Hall, sir?"

Oswald kept his eyes on Martin. He couldn't let the boy simply stay here after this revelation, but he still didn't know what to answer. "Tarquin, what do you think about the idea of taking one of the children back to City Hall?"

Tarquin frowned. "What use would that be?"

"Publicity - 'an internship with the mayor'." Oswald smiled deviously.

"Hmm... that doesn't sound too bad, actually. Do you have a particular child in mind?" He looked at Martin.

"I do..." Oswald replied, pointing to the boy in front of him with one hand. "This is Martin."

"Very pleased," Tarquin said in improper politeness, reaching out a hand to Martin, which the boy grabbed at once, nodding at the Chief of Staff, who then looked confused at his employer.

"He does not speak."

"Ooh... I see." He released the boy from his grip. "I'll be checking with the orphanage management, but given that you are the patron of the institution, Mr. Cobblepot, I don't think this will be a problem."

\---

After the announcement of the 'mayoral internship' the press had followed them to City Hall, had taken photos of Oswald and the little orphan on the steps leading up to the building and had only allowed themselves to be blocked by the guards at the entrance.

Tarquin they then shook off in the corridor, disappeared together in the mayor's office and closed the door behind them.

"Finally...," sighed Oswald in relief as Martin sat down on the chair opposite the desk.

But when Oswald also approached the desk, the desk chair suddenly turned towards them and Oswald recoiled with a quiet scream. In his chair sat a man with fuzzy brown hair and a full beard, who wore a dirty, blue-grey cleaning uniform and had casually laid one leg over the other. "Finally - indeed", he spoke in a smoky voice.

Oswald frowned. His voice was like an indignant squeak. "Who are you and what are you doing in my office?"

The man raised his eyebrows, then touched his own face. "Oh, I forgot...", he fumbled with his nails along the edge of his beard, "that I'm still wearing this."

Oswald pulled his brows together in a mixture of shock and disgust as the cleaner slowly pulled the beard off his face, which was apparently a glued-on fake, while hissing loudly in pain. After he had removed the synthetic hair, the man reached into the breast pocket of his cleaning uniform and pulled out a pair of glasses, which he put on his nose, before smoothing his frizzy hair with both hands.

"Edward?!", it escaped Oswald immediately. "What are you wearing?"

Ed squinted down at himself, tugging at the top of his uniform. "Oh, this? I needed some sort of camouflage so I could sneak in here undetected." In speaking, he had begun to strip from the outfit he had simply worn over his suit.

"You could have waited until I came home," Oswald replied, withholding the fact that he himself had just recently wished to hear from Edward as soon as possible.

With a euphoric sound Edward pulled out a bulging envelope. "I couldn't wait to show you this." He threw it over the table and out slipped Polaroid photographs that Edward had apparently taken at the place where Gordon had obtained the blood vial ‒ a laboratory.

"Look at the third picture," Edward demanded with a grin, and when Oswald pulled it out of the pile he saw a 15-inch-tall aluminum tube.

"And... what exactly am I supposed to see on it?"

"This, my friend, is an aerosol dispersal bomb, the perfect device for releasing a substance like the Tetch-virus. So your assumption was correct."

"But isn't it a little... small?" Oswald asked, frowning incredulously. This little aluminum tube looked anything but dangerous.

"My guess is that this is an early test form," Ed explained, before an excited smile adorned his lips. "I'm sure the finished device will be much larger and its dissipating power almost impossible to imagine."

Edward had been so focused on his discovery that he hadn't noticed Martin, who was still sitting on the chair opposite the desk, now trying to attract attention by pulling one of Oswald's coattails.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Ed then asked leery.

"I've invited Martin here to talk to him about... future projects." Oswald and Martin shared a quick glance that made Martin beam. "I know what role Martin played in your plan, Ed; we're past that," he added before Edward could speak. "They may want to detonate the bomb in a place with a particularly large number of people," he continued calmly.

"Most likely..." Edward had actually given a lot of thought to the questions of how, when and where, but Martin's presence irritated him too much to delve into the subject. "Are you sure he should hear all this?" he asked, whereupon Oswald raised both brows as if Edward's concern was absolutely ridiculous.

"Martin has no reason to betray me."

Ed lowered his lids. "Oh... that little youngster is crafty, I'm sure-"

When Martin thereupon lifted the stick-man picture he had drawn before, Edward faltered in his speech, stared confusedly at the drawing, before he pulled Oswald away from the table by his shoulders ‒ just far enough that the orphan could no longer understand their whisper. "Shouldn't you talk to me before you make such a decision?" What was Oswald thinking?! Was he just gonna adopt that boy?! Edward couldn't believe it. He and Oswald hadn't even had sex yet, and his boyfriend showed up with a son?! 70% of parents have less sex after having a child! Edward could count himself lucky that there wasn't a negative percentage...

"I haven't made any decision yet," Oswald explained with a throwaway gesture. "But Shivan was right back then... it would be nice in a way to have an heir."

"Didn't you reply to him that blood right is old-fashioned?"

"I did, but-" Oswald looked at Martin, who smiled happily at him. "Perhaps I have changed my mind."

"Oswald-"

Their conversation was interrupted when suddenly the door to the office was opened without a knock and none other than Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon stood in the doorway. "Listen, Oswald, we'd like to talk to you about-" Jim had begun, but faltered as soon as he saw Edward standing in the room.

"Who have we here? Thought we got rid of you nutjob for free," growled Harvey, reaching for his service weapon, which he now pointed at Edward.

"Bullock, Bullock ‒ always a pleasure to see you," Ed whispered in a sinister voice, then quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out his revolver, which he in turn pointed at Harvey.

Jim stood stunned next to his partner, noticing at that moment that there was a child in the room, which he told Harvey with strict gestures. "Harvey, put the gun down."

But his effort seemed in vain when Oswald, concerned for Edward's safety, stepped behind his desk and from underneath the tabletop pulled out a shotgun, which he loaded and now pointed at Bullock as well. "Listen to your partner, Bullock."

The fact that he was outgunned made Harvey growl, but being stubborn by birth, he didn't lower his gun just yet.

Jim raised both palms. "Can we all please calm down and discuss why we're really here?" The stern look he gave his partner seemed to break Harvey's stubbornness, as the police captain actually put the gun down and raised his palms with a reluctant, "All good".

Oswald and Ed also lowered their weapons, which made Jim sigh with relief. A shoot-out in the city hall ‒ in the presence of children ‒ would really have been the last thing he needed for today.

Tbc


	14. The most romantic place in all of Gotham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Harvey also have a favor to ask Oswald, which adds to his and Edwards plans. Later, Edward is confronted with the question of what he would choose if he could have anything - while being in the most romantic place in all of Gotham.

Chapter 14

**The most romantic place in all of Gotham**

"So... what is it you want?" asked Oswald impudently, while dropping his shotgun loudly onto the desk and himself onto the cushion of his chair.

"Well...", Jim glanced at Martin, "I don't think this is a topic for a child."

Oswald weaved his fingers on the tabletop, smiling haughtily. " _That horrible?_ Don't tell me this is about your old Court friends. I heard you arrested Kathryn Monroe this morning." He leaned forward in his chair, grinning. "That's how we know him, _the great detective Gordon_ ," he praised in a frivolous manner.

Jim had briefly lifted the corners of his mouth as if the compliment flattered him despite the amused tone, but then he narrowed his brows severely. "From what you say, and the fact that Nygma is here, I guess I'm right in assuming your cooperation with the Court is over."

"And so _you_ thought I would suddenly be on your side?" He clicked his tongue a few times in a lecturing manner, shook his head faintly and with a smug smile. When Jim Gordon wanted something, he rarely thought his plans through. He was more of a head-through-the-wall guy than a strategist, and sadly the saying 'fortune favors the bold' applied to him far too often.

Jim nodded, a broad false grin on his lips. "Something like that."

"Sorry to disappoint you, old friend, but now that I've got Ed back," he pointed an arm toward his partner, who hadn't said a word, but spent time frowning at Harvey and Jim instead, "I don't want anything more to do with the Court."

"Oh, come on, tell that to your decorator. You wanna get rid of this Court just as much as we do," Harvey interrupted.

Oswald uttered a quiet laugh before leaning back in his chair with a false sigh. "It might be true that we have the same enemy, and a few years ago I would have probably said: _There has never been a better moment for us to work together_ ", he had given Jim a stern look at that sentence, "but I've come to realize how little sense of honor the police have – so please forgive me for having some resentment towards you." His whole attitude, facial expression and pronunciation had a mocking quality; he wallowed in his position of power. Finally he was the one who could give Jim Gordon the cold shoulder.

"Now listen up, Penguin," Harvey began with a growl, stomped the few steps to the desk, and now, with a snarl of his teeth, slammed his palms on the tabletop, "we could also think of somethin' better than workin' with you scumbag!"

"But?", asked Ed in a lowered voice and with a slight smile on his lips, which, combined with his sinister look, gave him an eerie expression.

Harvey took up the question with a snort. " _But_ since our _dear mayor_ cut the police budget, we're short on men."

Some wanted his contacts, others his lackeys – Oswald slowly but surely became the most sought-after man in all of Gotham.

He grinned mischievously. "Well, in such peaceful times we don't need any more bullies holding innocent citizens captive and chaining them to a chair, do we?"

Harvey's answer was limited to a hiss.

"So, Oswald, do we have a deal?" Jim asked urging.

" _Deal?_ Correct me if I'm wrong, James, but wouldn't a deal involve _me_ getting something out of this as well?" He crossed his legs, then glanced briefly at Ed and shrugged impishly. If they were working with the GCPD, this could lead to a chance to get Strange's location even quicker – and without using their network of police spies.

"I suppose getting rid of the Court isn't enough for you," Jim said through clenched jaws. It was obvious that he was not particularly fond of the idea of working with a criminal, but knowing that the Court was about to plant a bomb somewhere in Gotham, and with Bruce Wayne now missing, he had no choice. This time, the protection of Gotham and all its inhabitants outweighed Jim's personal sense of honor. He forced himself to smile. "If you help us, I'll owe you a favor..."

Oswald made a throw-away gesture. "That old line again, Jim?" he moaned. "You can do me a favor right now. Take Ed and me down to the precinct and let us in on your investigation – then I'll think about putting my men at your disposal."

"You damned little maggot, as if we're going to-"

"Deal."

Harvey shot around to his partner. "What?!" Did his buddy deliberately forget that Harvey was captain, not him?

"We have no choice, Harv. Think about Gotham, think of Bruce – we need men, and he's got more than enough." They didn't have Alfred's Owl yet and it would take them some time to put the pieces together, but when he thought about how many different spots had been marked on the map of Gotham, the cops they had left wouldn't be enough to search all the hideouts.

Harvey moaned, staring at the ceiling in desperation. "I'd really hate to come back to the butler slash ex-marine and tell him we only have a handful of people to look for the boy..."

Oswald amusedly lifted his palms to the ceiling. "What a _sad_ pickle, but you'll have to make a decision."

"Fine," Harvey finally spat, pointing to Martin, who had followed the whole conversation with interest. "But the kid stays here! I don't wanna be babysitter, too." Next, he looked at Edward and raised his forefinger in admonition. "And the cop killer won't set foot in the precinct – _except maybe in a nice pair of handcuffs._ "

Edward had lifted the corners of his mouth unimpressed, but Oswald was the one who objected. He didn't get far, however, because Jim's cell phone rang at that moment.

"What is it?", the detective answered the phone and now everyone present could watch his facial expressions being swept away by a wave of emotions, of which shock prevailed. "Got it. I'll see to it immediately."

"What happened?" Harvey asked worriedly after Jim hung up.

The detective took a few steps out of the middle of the room, pulled Harvey into a corner and lowered his voice as he spoke. "Lee may have stolen the sample of the virus. It's not in the GCPD anymore and no one except Lucius, myself and Lee have the combination."

"What? But why would she do that?"

"I don't know..." Jim gnashed his teeth. "But I have a bad feeling about this."

"You wanna go see her?"

"Yeah."

Harvey nodded understandingly, patted his partner twice on the shoulder. "Do what you think is right, pal."

"You gonna be okay?

Harvey smiled. "With Snow Green and the two dwarfs? You betcha. You go and take care of Lee – last time I talked to her, she seemed to be in a very dark place..."

In the background you could hear Oswald hissing over the silly joke about his height.

Jim shook his head in despair. "Yeah... I hope she's not 'bout to do something stupid..."

"Don't even think of that," Harvey admonished, shaking his partner slightly by the shoulder. "Lee is a smart girl – have faith in her."

Nodding, Jim laid one hand on Harvey's. "You're right."

Harvey winked, then spoke with dripping confidence, "Appears I'm good-looking _and_ smart," thereby finally freeing his partner from his brooding and making him smile.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

After Jim had left the office in a hurry, Harvey turned back to the two men and the child.

"Edward comes with us or no deal," Oswald finally said, resuming the interrupted conversation.

"I may be captain, but I can't just walk through the front door with a cop-killer," muttered Harvey. "And it probably wouldn't look too good for the mayor either."

As much as Oswald hated to admit it, Bullock was right. But he couldn't just leave Edward here – after all, they were partners (in more than one sense)!

But Edward had an idea. Grinning, he approached his friend and whispered into his ear. "You go with him."

"We don't necessarily need the GCPD," Oswald protested. He did not want to leave Edward behind.

"Even if he has the brain of a fat, drooling bulldog, Harvey is not wrong. You need to think about your office, Oswald. If we're seen together outside or in the GCPD, it could harm you."

"I don't care," Oswald claimed, but he was not completely honest. He did care about the mayor's office; it was a legacy his father and mother would certainly have been proud of.

"That I'm not coming with you doesn't mean I won't be there," Ed finally whispered with a grin into Oswald's ear.

It took him a moment to think the sentence through, but finally Oswald smirked. "Please don't make a show of it," he said with raised brows, tilting his head to the side in amusement. They did not necessarily need the same attention during their present plans as they had received at the time of the Riddler attacks.

"I can't promise that."

\---

Before he and Harvey had left City Hall, Oswald had taken Martin to Tarquin and asked his chief of staff to look after the orphan boy for a few hours. Martin had been visibly crushed to have to say goodbye to Oswald again, but he had promised him to return to City Hall after his dealings with the police.

Edward was already gone when Harvey and Oswald finally descended the stairs outside.

With lowered brows he watched the police captain looking up and down the street confusedly.

"What's the problem? Have you forgotten which car is yours?" Oswald asked flippantly.

Harvey began to rummage through his jacket and trouser pockets in panic. "Where are my car keys?" But finally he remembered. "Ah, Jim took 'em while I was dumping the leftovers of our last stakeout earlier. Wait- **Jim**!" He knew his buddy was in a hurry, but did he have to steal his car without saying anything? And how would he get Oswald to the GCPD?! He looked ridiculous in front of that little squirt now!

Meanwhile Oswald had approached the black Benz with a sigh, which was parked on the sidewalk directly in front of the city hall. The driver was sitting inside the car with a newspaper in his hand and when he saw the mayor in the side mirror, he got out immediately and grabbed the peak of his cap with humility.

"May I take you somewhere, Mr. Cobblepot sir?" He held the back door of his boss's car open.

"To the GCPD."

While Oswald sat down in the back seat, Harvey strolled around the car whistling, knocking as if inspecting the wheel suspensions and running his fingertips over the black paint, which had been kept cool by the mild weather. "Wow, that's a hell of a ride. Not bad." But instead of sitting in the back seat as well, he ran to the chauffeur, stole the cap off his head without further ado, and then pushed him with a grin and an arrogant: "such a baby needs a real driver" away from the car, before sitting down in the driver's seat himself, exchanging his hat for the chauffeur's cap, and turning the key in the ignition. "Oh, mama!" he cried ecstatically as the car roared.

Oswald in the backseat rolled his eyes at so much machismo. The only thing that mattered was that they got there and Harvey would hold up his end of the deal.

"Hey, Penguin, remember the last time I drove you to the GCPD?" Harvey asked with a dirty grin, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

" _Vividly_..." How could he ever forget being humiliated like that in the street? 'Once a criminal, always a criminal - Mayor Cobblepot's deep fall' had made the front pages. "The role of chauffeur suits you, perhaps it will open up a whole new field of work for you, Bullock," he jeered in an attempt not to let his displeasure about the former arrest show too much.

But Harvey did not allow himself to be insulted. In fact, his grin became even wider and he corrected the peak of the chauffeur's cap. "I can wear it, huh?"

Halfway there – in fact, he had taken a teeny little detour to enjoy the smooth feel of the luxury car for as long as possible – Harvey received a phone call. He looked at the screen in perplexity, then flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. "What is it, Alvarez? I'm on my way back... wait- what?"

Oswald sat up and leaned curiously forward so he could better listen in on the conversation.

"A bomb outside the GCPD?! Where's the bomb disposal team? W-what?!" Harvey stepped on the accelerator, which instantly threw Oswald back against the seat. "What are you waiting for, clear the station! I'll be there in five minutes!" Growling, Harvey slammed the phone shut and threw it into the passenger seat, from which he now took his hat and exchanged it for the chauffeur's cap. "When I get my hands on the guys from the bomb squad..."

"May I ask what this is about?" Oswald asked more annoyed than politely. "I hope we are still on our way to the GCPD – _as was planned!_ "

But Harvey didn't answer, kept his eyes fixed on the traffic as he slowly pushed the accelerator down further, sending the speedometer needle into a dangerously high sway.

"Are you trying to kill us?" yelled Oswald as they passed a van by a hair's breadth.

"Will you keep your beak shut for a moment? I have to concentrate here!"

And when they suddenly heard a police siren behind them, Harvey moaned loudly, while Oswald looked out the back window worried, choking out an annoyed " _Wonderful_!"

Meanwhile Harvey had pulled his police badge out of his jacket and stuffed it in his mouth, and now his left hand lowered the window while his right hand continued to drive the car. "Cop! Okay?! **I'm a cop** ," he shouted as he held his badge out of the window, waving it wildly in the air to attract the attention of the patrolmen. Unfortunately, they thought it unlikely that a policeman would have the money to drive such an expensive car, so they assumed that the badge was either fake or stolen and pursued the Benz further.

" **Stop the vehicle!** " shouted one of the patrol officers through a megaphone.

"I'm Captain Harvey Bullock," he shouted back, toying briefly with the idea of sticking his head out of the window, but at their current speed this could have resulted in him steering the car into another one. "I am Harvey Bullock! Can't ya hear me!?"

Obviously not, and slowly Harvey began to see an advantage in the pursuit; the sound of the police siren caused numerous cars on the road to swerve out of the way, thus quickening their arrival.

" **I repeat, stop the vehicle!** "

"Sorry, boys, I know you're just doing your job, but I'm afraid that's not possible...", Harvey crunched behind the wheel and tried to shake the cops off in traffic. "We're almost there..."

With screeching tires, they turned into the street where the police station was located, came to a stop just in time before they would have crashed into the simple barrier that had been set up as protection against the bomb. Unfortunately, the patrol car behind them noticed this too late and crashed into the Benz, sending Oswald forehead first against the headrest of the driver's seat.

While Oswald was still moaning and clutching his forehead and nose, Harvey immediately stormed out of the car. "Where's the bomb?"

"Ah! It's Captain Bullock! Sorry, Cap," shouted the two patrolmen, who now also got out of their car; both of them looked slightly damaged after this little accident.

As Oswald wobbled out of the Benz, leaning against the car from the outside with a dizzy look and shaky knees, it was only then that he noticed the damage the police car had left on his vehicle. The whole rear of the car was wrecked, the paintwork chipped off, the metal sheet dented beyond recognition. His mouth opened in shock as a small thread of blood came out of his bruised nose. "Y-you... you wrecked my car!"

"Oh, c'mon, Penguin, you don't even know the name of the car," Harvey just calmly replied as if wrecking cars was standard police procedure.

"So what? It was expensive and looked good! That's all that matters! And now it's a pile of trash," Oswald replied with a high shriek, his hands clenched into fists trembling with rage. Why had he let that idiot take the wheel!?

Harvey had no sympathy for Oswald's pain; scoffing and shaking his head, he had turned away from him and had climbed over the barrier, where Alvarez now ran towards him.

"What we got here, Alvarez?"

"Well, obviously it's a bomb – what kind nobody can say. And nobody saw who put it there – but... the presentation only points to _one_ person."

They walked together to the sidewalk in front of the GCPD entrance, where there was a green box with black question marks on it. The lid had been removed and was upside down on the asphalt. Inside the box was a digital timer, which had not yet been activated; underneath it were several green and black wires and some kind of metal box that possibly contained the explosive.

Harvey growled. "Nygma!" Was this his revenge for not taking him along?! Apparently, for this lunatic, no reaction was too strong. "You finally got word from the boys in the bomb squad?" He asked Alvarez.

"No, we can't get ahold of them."

"Damn it!" Nygma had probably done something to them.

Because he had heard Edward's name from a distance, Oswald had approached the two policemen, now also saw the bomb, which clearly carried the Riddler's signature. He snorted softly while covering his bleeding nose with a handkerchief. Hadn't he told Ed in City Hall _not_ to make a show of it?

"Did you know 'bout this?" Harvey growled in Oswald's direction. It would suit the treacherous snake Penguin if there was an evil plan behind this supposed cooperation!

"No, I did not," Oswald said, eye-rolling. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have let myself be harmed, _would I_?"

Alvarez leaned over to his captain. "What are we gonna do? Requesting a new bomb disposal team could take hours."

"Do it anyway. Meanwhile, I'll take a look at the bomb."

But as Harvey walked up to the bomb and bent down to take a closer look, the timer suddenly started counting down from ten seconds, glowing red. In panic, he stumbled back, turned to Oswald and Alvarez and jumped towards them with a screamed "Get down!"

Oswald suddenly had the feeling of being caught in a cinematic slow motion. The Captain's words sounded long and deep in his ears and his massive body slowly drew a shadow over him as his whole life passed before his eyes.

With a high shriek, he was swept along with Alvarez by Harvey, landing head first on the sidewalk and lying motionless under the captain's body. He deeply regretted that the last thing he would notice of this world was Harvey's strong body odor.

And finally the timer ran to zero, the bomb beeped as if excited and the whole place had become quiet. The three people lying on the ground flinched when suddenly a loud "POW!" came out of the box, then a giggle and a clap. The voice clearly belonged to Edward Nygma. "If this had been a real bomb, you would all have died. Lucky for you, this is just a dummy. Think of it as a little test I gave the GCPD for free and which you – _obviously_ – failed! Maybe you should improve your bomb-disarming procedures. Just a friendly advice." A click of the tongue, then a rustle, and the sound was gone.

Harvey and Alvarez had gotten back on their feet during Edward's message, while Oswald was still groaning on the ground, physically and mentally recovering from having just been crushed by Captain Bullock.

"A tape recording – that son of a bitch!", Harvey growled with his eyes fixed on the box. "But what for?" He tore open his lids, stared inside the station before grabbing Alvarez by the shoulders. "Has the precinct been cleared?!"

"Yeah, all the cops have left the building."

"What 'bout the arrestees?" Harvey continued, shaking Alvarez violently. 

"T-there wasn't enough time to..."

"Damn it..." If Nygma had used the bomb as a diversion to get into the GCPD, he may have abducted Kathryn Monroe from custody.

Eagerly, Harvey stormed into the precinct. Meanwhile, Oswald had risen back up from the floor. His whole body ached, he was dizzy, nauseous, and judging by his fingertips, his nose was still bleeding. Pressing a new handkerchief against the blood, he finally followed the police captain into the station, limping even more than customary.

Inside he was met by a relieved and groaning Harvey Bullock. "She's still here..." But if Nygma hadn't planted the bomb to abduct Kathryn, what purpose had it served? Had it really just been a sick joke?! Why did he even bother?! Edward Nygma was a wacko – who could tell what was going on inside his head!

"So, what is now with the Court?" Oswald asked, audibly out of breath. Though he looked completely torn up, he still tried to make a sublime impression, had confidently pushed his shoulders out and lowered his brows.

"Ah... yes..." Harvey shook himself out of his thoughts. "You're right. Forget Nygma, let's get on with the creepy organization with the bomb that's not fake." He pointed up the stairs. "We'll talk in my office."

When they reached the top of the stairs, Harvey frowned confusedly. "Why are the blinds down..."

He was about to find out when he pushed the door open and saw Edward Nygma in his chair – legs resting over the edge of the tabletop, arms crossed in front of his chest and in a police uniform that he had probably stolen from some officer. "About time you showed up...," he grumbled in fake anger and with an amused smile on his lips as Harvey and Oswald entered the doorway. Which way had Harvey taken, that he and Oswald had only just arrived at the GCPD – over the Himalayas? Anyway, there had been enough time for him to get a little invention of his own from its hiding place, which he had originally planned to use in his riddle hunt with the GCPD.

"Get out of my chair!"

Though he did not follow Harvey's orders, Edward actually rose from the chair and walked towards Oswald in bewilderment, " _Yikes_. What happened?" he asked the smaller man before he turned his gaze piercingly on Bullock. "What have you done you imbecile?"

»W…« Harvey pointed to his own chest, while his mouth picked at words out of sheer disbelief. "What have _I_ done?! _I_ would have got us here without a single scratch if there hadn't been **a bomb** planted in front of the precinct!" he yelled.

Edward raised his eyebrows in understanding. He had never planned that his invention would harm Oswald – how could he have known that Harvey and Oswald would be followed by a patrol car? How could he have known they wouldn't drive in Bullock's car? He had been far too focused on his plan of getting into the GCPD unseen to notice that the police captain's car had not been parked in front of City Hall.

With a pitiful expression he leaned down to his friend. "Oswald, I'm really sorry. I... I didn't intend for this to happen."

Oswald raised one palm. "It's fine, Ed." But you could tell from his voice that he was only half honest and he wasn't looking at Edward as he made his way past him toward the desk where he clumsily sat down on a chair.

"Were you not listening when I said I didn't want you in the GCPD!?" Harvey raged with an outstretched index finger.

"You said you couldn't come through the front door with me," Ed corrected with a smirk, then raised both palms to the ceiling. "But as you can see, I was already here when you arrived, so why don't we just get straight down to business?"

"Don't act all logical with me," growled Harvey. "Already got plenty of that with Fox," he added in a quiet murmur.

Edward grinned, his palms clapped together. " _Foxy_? Is he here?", he asked excitedly and with a smoky lowered voice.

"Even if he is, you are not to move an inch from this office, is that clear?"

" _Okidoki_ ," Ed replied with a smirk.

Soon after that someone called Bullock's name and the Captain had to deal with something outside his office. "You two stay put," he warned once more before leaving the room, leaving Edward and Oswald alone.

As soon as the Captain had left, the corners of Edward's mouth fell down and the worried grimace from earlier returned. Hands hovering a little unsettled over his navel, he approached the seated man who was still dabbing his bloody nose with a handkerchief, emitting a soft hissing sound every now and then.

"I am really sorry. How did this happen?"

"Bullock wrecked my car," Oswald replied with a humorless smile.

Edward clenched one hand to a fist, pinched his eyelids together. "I knew that moron was responsible!"

"Ed...there is something _I_ must apologize _to_ _you_ for," Oswald said after a brief silence, with his head resting on the back of his neck while he tried to pull up his nose.

"Stop, you shouldn't do that! It'll only cause blood to enter your stomach and make you sick. You should let your head hang forward. And...", he looked around the room, saw a water bottle on the desk – which in Bullock's case probably served more of a decorative purpose – and felt it to check the temperature of the liquid before taking Oswald's silk pocket square and soaking it with the water from the bottle, "put a cold cloth on your neck. This causes the blood vessels in your nose to constrict, which should stop the bleeding. Unfortunately, however, this is not really cold enough, so this may take some time."

"Thanks... I'm not usually one for prolonged nosebleeds."

Ed lifted his eyelids in alarm. "Then I hope you didn't suffer a more serious head injury. Perhaps we should..."

"No, not necessary..." He took the handkerchief off his nose. "See? It stopped."

But Ed didn't seem to be fully satisfied with that. "Would you at least let me check your nose? I want to make sure it's not broken somewhere."

Oswald slightly lifted up his head towards the ceiling, which Edward took as permission, and carefully ran his index and middle fingers along the sides of Oswald's nose bridge.

A slight smile fell on Oswald's lips. "What is your diagnosis, Dr. Nygma?", he asked playfully and with arched brows.

"Everything where it belongs," Edward replied with a giggle before leaning back against the desk with a relieved sigh. "You were about to say something earlier."

Immediately, the corners of Oswald's mouth dropped down again. "Yes... I owe you an apology, Ed. For a moment in front of the precinct, I really thought you had betrayed me after all, and that I was gonna die from a bomb you planted. Even if it was just for a moment, I... doubted you."

Not knowing what to say, Edward once cleared his throat in discomfort, squinted at the ground beneath his feet. He would be lying if he said that this didn't hurt him, but then again, after all that had happened, it was probably Oswald's right to still be suspicious. "You can trust me, Oswald. I would never betray you. I..." He shut his eyes. That was still harder than he had thought. "I love you."

A faint smile returned to Oswald's lips before he lowered his gaze with fluttering lashes like a schoolboy in love, cheeks all red despite the preceding blood loss. "I love you too, Ed."

As if overcome by a new zeal, Oswald leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Can I ask you something while we wait?"

Edward affirmed this by turning his head briefly.

"If you could have anything you wanted, what would you choose?"

The answer was not long in coming. " _You_ – and perhaps more control over Gotham and a suitable stage for me to demonstrate my skills and..." He realized too late that he had talked himself into a whole novel of wishes, which resulted in him closing his eyes briefly to focus, adjusting his glasses on his nose and then lifting the corners of his mouth in an engaging manner. "But mainly you, Oswald, and...", he approached his friend, looked down at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, "to be more precise, a kiss from you – a real one."

With a swallow, Oswald had jumped up from his chair, stepping away from his friend. "Ed..."

"What is it you're afraid of?" asked Edward in a smoky lowered voice as he slowly approached him.

"I confess that I...", he squinted behind his back, assessing the amount of steps he could take before he hit the wall, "feel somewhat overwhelmed and also a little weak. You know how much I hate not being in control," he argued with audible nervousness, lifting his palms, which, however, were only a thin and, above all, trembling shield.

"Then _take_ control, Oswald. I will not force you to do anything..." He stopped, gave his friend the necessary space to decide what he wanted to do.

Oswald averted his gaze, brooding. Of course he wanted to kiss Edward, but he also didn't want to make a mistake and embarrass himself. He was a little flattered, though. He hadn't expected that Edward's answer to his question would be him and he had an inner need to make Edward's wish come true.

Oswald swallowed, then looked up at Edward who had turned his gaze to the side. His friend seemed glum, perhaps he took Oswald's reluctance as an insult to his own person. He was all the more surprised when Oswald took a few steps forward – so far forward that the tips of their shoes touched – and hesitantly raised his hands, wrapped them around Edward's neck and then went up on tiptoe to bring their lips together, eyes closed.

The kiss didn't last long, their lips had only touched softly, more so the kiss of two brothers than the kiss of actual lovers. Edward made a delighted sound and a broad, dimpled smile took over his whole face, while Oswald swayed somewhere between a euphoric smile and a relieved sigh, his gaze turned to the ground in shame. He was amazed at how easy it had been for him to kiss Edward and how... nice and satisfying the feeling of his lips had been. His heart had been pounding like it had during their very first hug.

But a frightened squeak escaped him when Ed suddenly directed his chin up to him and bent down in a quick movement to initiate another kiss – this time with much more pressure, more passion. Oswald had torn his eyes open, staring with bated breath at his friend's relaxed face while he felt with a racing heartbeat how Ed's hands wandered to his nape, caressing his hair. He himself had raised his hands curled up against Edward's chest, unable to move.

When he felt the sensation of being overwhelmed like a high wave crashing down on him, eating its way back into his body even though it had just left him, he couldn't help but push the taller man away.

"Ed!", he cried admonishingly, but in a scratchy voice, before panting loudly for oxygen.

Edward fluttered his eyelashes in perplexity. Why had Oswald pushed him away? He had been sure that now that Oswald had initiated intimacy of his own accord, they could finally enjoy each other's physical affection to the full. Had he misunderstood? "I..." Ed lowered his gaze, swallowed. "I'm sorry." He crunched, unable to look up at his friend out of sheer disgrace. "Did you dislike it _that_ much?"

A little surprised that Edward immediately attributed his reaction to his kissing talent, Oswald blinked his lids. His mouth popped open, but he didn't quite know what to say in response. What was the most honest answer he could give? "It's not you, Ed... I..." He pursed his lips in hesitation, "I'm just not used to this kind of thing."

Edward found it hard to imagine that Oswald had not yet had any desire to do anything more than simply hug his boyfriend. He was only human after all, wasn't he? Or perhaps he had no sexual desire at all? Ed narrowed his brows. "Have you never at least thought about what it would be like?" Edward had – even more so since last night.

At first, Oswald seemed intimidated by the question, but eventually he forced himself to smile and replied with a hint of amused bite: "Well, I suppose I've been too busy thinking about how much I'm scared of it than to actually think about it."

"Might I ask if this was the first time you ever..."

"Kissed someone?", Oswald finished the question with a false smile, then squinted down to the tips of his shoes in embarrassment before answering in a hoarse tone: "Yes, it was."

Should Edward ask? He didn't want to make Oswald uncomfortable, but he had to know; especially since they were already on the subject. "Will we ever..." His desperate expression was enough for Oswald to understand what Ed was talking about exactly.

He closed his eyelids. "I... don't know yet. I don't know what to do or how to feel. This is all new to me, Ed, and I'm sorry if..."

"No!" Edward had raised a hand, admonishing Oswald not to finish the sentence. "If you're uncomfortable with the thought, we don't have to do anything yet. _But_ -", his gaze became soft, "I would appreciate it if you would at least think about it."

"I guess... I can try."

An awkward silence set in, which Edward had to break with an even more awkward statement after clearing his throat. "Of course, I would be fine with taking on the role that is perhaps a little more... _frightening_."

If they would have been on a remote pier or in a wooded area right now, one might have thought that Oswald had just been shot. For a moment his eyelids were wide open, his lips slightly apart, his breathing had stopped and his body didn't move an inch. But little by little blood started to flow into his cheeks, and he finally swallowed loudly, to reply with pressed words: "I haven't thought _about that_ at all..."

Edward shook himself slightly, trying to get the nervousness out of his body that the subject of sex and especially Oswald's reluctance had caused in him. "We could, of course, start with something less... forceful." He adjusted his glasses with fidgety fingers. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought up the subject in the first place – or at least waited until they were at home, where they had the chance to hide in their respective bedrooms. 

"Ed, I _honestly_ don't know _anything_ about these matters, so... I don't know what to reply," Oswald said a little annoyed and with his arms raised.

Edward's gaze became determined and he straightened his back. "Well, my own sexual experiences are – strictly speaking – also rather limited, but I have read a lot. Of course, I am still far from being an expert, but I could certainly explain the theory to you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the details might frighten you even more."

Oswald had raised his eyebrows, tightened the corners of his mouth in discomfort. "Sounds soothing," he spoke sarcastically before strutting slowly past Edward and towards the desk, where he drummed softly with his fingers on the tabletop. "May-be we shouldn't have this little conversation inside the GCPD, huh?"

Ed wrinkled his nose. "I could definitely think of more romantic places...", he had lifted the lid of an aluminum container that had been on the desk, and from the inside of which now emanated a haze of fast food, "with a far better smell."

"Ed..." Oswald had turned to Edward in a quick movement, "I _want_ to try this; I think what frightens me most is the thought of failing this relationship and failing you."

"You don't have to be afraid of that," Ed replied in severe consternation. "I've denied my feelings for you for too long to just give up now." Edward Nygma was far too stubborn to give up that easily and in the end, Oswald's reluctance was not much different from a riddle that he could solve with enough patience.

Slowly a smile appeared on both their faces and the moment gave Oswald the courage he needed to stand on his tiptoes and kiss Edward again – still gentle and timid, but now he held the kiss for a moment, fully enjoying the touch of their lips for the first time, the tingling sensation that their contact caused on his skin.

Too late they heard the door being pushed open, did not manage to separate in time.

" **God! No! Blech!** ," exclaimed Harvey, his facial expressions distorted in nausea and shock, his hands raised to his temples. Behind him, Alfred, who hadn't seen the kiss. "Why must _I_ , of all people, be the one to walk in on this?! God! This is a police station! _My_ police station! I _never_ want to see anything like this again, _comprende!?_ Eww!" That would haunt him in his dreams...

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaa, the GCPD. Nothing says more "pure romance, kisses and violin music" than a bunch of middle aged cops, picking their noses and scratching their backs. <3 (The ideal place for a marriage ;) right, Lee and Jim?)  
> In the next chapter I'll add Alfred and Dr. Strange to the story :D


	15. The key to victory or the spear of our ruin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a normal incident at the GCPD, Oswald and Edward get a chance to catch Hugo Strange. Meanwhile, Oswald struggles with a new jelousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how it happened, but this chapter is full of action scenes :'D

Chapter 15

**The key to victory or the spear of our ruin?**

"Chapeau, Bullock! You found your way back to your office. But I see you had help," Edward teased with an amused smile on his lips and a playfully enthusiastic clapping, disregarding the strict request of the police captain to refrain from intimacies at the precinct.

Harvey let the insult bounce off him with a fake smile.

"Excuse me, but may I ask what _these_ two gentlemen are doing here," Alfred asked in between, interrupting the exchange of glances between Harvey and Ed. His voice had an urging undertone, revealing that he would rather be out on the street looking for Bruce right now.

"Well...", Harvey began grudgingly, you could hear and see how hard it was for him to admit that he was dependent on Penguin and Nygma.

With an engaging smile on his lips, Oswald took a step forward while straightening his tailcoat, which, due to recent events, looked rather creased, especially on the lapels. "We heard what happened to Bruce Wayne - _very tragic_. But only in Gotham does one have to fear being replaced by a clone." He rolled his eyes in a playful manner before continuing. "Edward and I are here to support the GCPD in its work."

"Support, my ass! You two bloodsuckers are here to exploit our shortage of manpower," Bullock raged and had to be appeased by Alfred.

"Steady on, mate." The butler then turned his gaze back to Ed and Oswald, his hands folded behind his back in a stiff pose. "In view of the circumstances, I would even consider making a deal with the devil himself - as long as I get Bruce back."

Oswald smirked. He could live with that comparison.

"Then I guess this is the time for Captain Bullock to let us in on the investigation," Edward said, and indeed, Harvey now stomped grumbling behind his desk, threw his hat on the table top and himself on the chair, and pulled out a folder from one of the bottom drawers. "Jim and I received information from Dr. Strange 'bout a drug the Court of Owls plans to release all over Gotham with a bomb."

"The Alice Tetch virus," Edward interrupted with a grin, then snatched the folder from Harvey's fingers and read the contents with visible excitement. " _Ohh_ _my_ , what a fascinating substance. So the Court of Owls has actually managed to make the virus airborne."

"You knew the Court was planning to use the Tetch virus!?" Then what were Oswald and Edward there for anyway?

Oswald sneered and made a throw-away gesture. "Water under the bridge. You didn't by any chance have another meeting with Dr. Strange after that little tête-à-tête, or know where to find him?"

"No - why? What's your business with him?"

The question remained unanswered, as Oswald responded with a counter-question. "And what exactly do you need my men for?"

"We need them to search all the Court's secret hideouts as quickly as possible."

"Secret hideouts you know about how exactly?" Did Oswald really have to drag everything out of the police captain?

Slowly, Harvey felt like he was being interrogated; he didn't like it, but he was too swamped to prevent himself from speaking. "Alfred brought us this stolen crystal Owl thing which, when illuminated, projects a map of Gotham. The map has several points marked on it that Jim and I believe to be secret hideouts."

Edward, who, unlike Oswald, did not yet know about these owls, drew his brows together in confusion. "A statue projecting a map? _Interesting_." While talking, he had closed the folder and put it back on the desk. Unfortunately, Dr. Strange's notes had not contained any references to an antidote, but he did not consider the doctor to have created a viral weapon without simultaneously working on the antidote. The fact that his notes contained no mention of it only meant that Dr. Strange himself knew exactly how valuable such a remedy could be in the future.

" _So_..." Oswald spread his arms with a disbelieving grin, "why exactly are we still sitting here? You get the owl, I'll call my men." He made a move to pull out his cell phone.

"Well..." Harvey crunched. "We'll have to wait a while longer 'cause the owl has yet to be put back together again."

"It's broken?! Doesn't anyone here know how to handle fragile objects?" Oswald squawked, casting a piercing glance at Alfred, which the latter repulsed with casually stretched arms.

"Well, I did not break it, did I? That was Jerome Valeska," the butler said in moderate protest. 

Oswald sighed. "And how long will this assembly take?"

"About an hour."

And just as Oswald was about to sink down on a chair, annoyed, so as to kill the remaining time, the noise of a hectic shoot-out reached his ears from outside the office; then several screams, more gunfire and the thunder of heavy leather boots on stone tiles.

"What's going on?" Harvey stormed out of the office and paused at the railing with a shocked grimace. "What the-"

The precinct was in ruins. Desks were overturned, documents scattered, somewhere the electric hissing of a torn cable could be heard. The turned-over desks served as cover for the policemen, who - with their guns at the ready - were on the lookout for some enemy that Harvey had not yet been able to detect anywhere.

"Alvarez!" he shouted, but the detective kneeling at the foot of the stairs gave him a hand signal to lower his voice and take cover; which Harvey did with a tense hesitation, crawling behind his former desk.

Alfred also joined him now, sliding on his knees; like the policemen, the butler also carried a gun with him. "Is it someone from the Court of Owls?"

"I don't know, but it looks serious. Keep your guard up."

Oswald and Edward, on the other hand, had stayed in the office, but had positioned themselves to the left and right of the door and alternately glanced out into the precinct; Edward had put one hand in his jacket, gripping the silver revolver.

"If anything indicates the Court and Dr. Strange, we must pursue them," Oswald said, raising his voice in an echo of nervousness.

And then suddenly all lights went out in the GCPD and only the cloudy sun could counteract a total darkness from outside. At the slightest noise - a rustle, a step - shots were fired, their faint muzzle flashes allowing a sudden view, but which was gone so quickly that it only added to further fear and insecurity, leaving you with shadow images that were even worse than reality. When muffled cries rang out and the sound of bodies sinking heavily to the ground, Captain Bullock drew in the air sharply. "What's happening?"

He straightened up far enough to look over the railing and heard Alfred next to him doing the same.

Another shot, a frantic movement, a scream. The intruder - or intruders - had already worked their way past the first desks into the centre of the precinct. The prisoners behind the bars rumbled in panic.

"Who is this?" Harvey gnashed. However, the sun was kind to him, for at that moment the big black cloud disappeared, which had plunged the center of the room into darkness, and the milky gray light of the street now revealed the single black-dressed and masked man, who, with two short swords in his hands, had cut a bloody swath through the precinct.

"That man works for the Court of Owls," cried Alfred, as thoughts rattled behind Harvey's forehead.

"He's trying to free Kathryn... Stop him! C'mon, people! What's one freak in leather against the combined force of the GCPD?"

As if his exclamation had swallowed up the tension of the policemen, a thunderstorm of shots was now simultaneously released from all corners, focusing on the single man, who, however, was able to avoid the bullets with acrobatic elegance and speed.

"Take it easy, Road Runner...," Harvey grunted as he traced the assassin's path with his gun to the last cell, where the prisoners pressed themselves anxiously to the ground so as not to be hit by a misdirected bullet.

"Have you interrogated Kathryn Monroe yet?", Edward, who had appeared on his left side, suddenly asked him with the revolver in both hands.

"Yeah, why? -- How is it possible that no one is able to shoot him? Damn-" In his rage and desperation he had fired his last bullets in a short, rapid burst and was now rummaging for a new magazine.

"What did she tell you?"

"Nothing useful - except that there is apparently someone on the Court who stands above her." Other than that, Kathryn had only said one thing: 'You won't be able to stop it. The hour will come when the clock stops and Gotham falls.' "Why you ask? And what are you even doing out here?! Get back where no one can see you!"

Ed lowered his eyebrows before taking long strides toward the stairs. "I don't think he's here to _free_ Kathryn Monroe..."

"W-wait, what?" Harvey and Alfred followed him. Was Nygma suggesting that he was planning on killing her? Under no circumstances was that to happen! Not until Kathryn told them where the bomb was. Why did this have to happen now that Jim wasn't there?

Although they hurried, they didn't come to the interrogation room until after the talon, where Kathryn Monroe was still being held and when Edward pushed the door open he had to defend himself against a blade coming towards him at the height of his head. He ducked away, but the talon had counted on that and pushed his knee against his jaw, which brought Edward groaning to the ground. Next in line was Harvey, who was able to shoot twice into empty space before the talon grabbed his gun with his right hand and slammed it along with Harvey's hands against the heavy iron door, causing the Captain to drop the gun from a sudden reflex of pain. But that wasn't to be all. Next, the talon grabbed Harvey's wrists with his free left hand, threw the gun into the interrogation room like junk, and then reached for one of his short swords, the blade of which he rammed mercilessly through both of Harvey's palms. The Captain cried out and curled himself to the floor, making it easy for the talon to grab his pants and hurl him into the room. That left Alfred, who had used the time the assassin had been busy with Harvey to find a good aiming position. Of two shots, one hit - but only in the shoulder. The talon stumbled back and Alfred stormed forward into the room. The metal door slammed shut, locking the four men in a decisive battle.

"Where's Bruce?" Alfred asked gritting his teeth as he held the muzzle threateningly towards the assassin's chest. "Where's my boy?"

The talon didn't answer, just lowered his eyebrows as if focusing on something.

"Shoot him!" Harvey shouted from the ground.

"No!" yelled Ed, whose vision had just become clear again. A glance to the interrogation table had revealed to him that Kathryn Monroe had indeed been killed by the talon, a quick cut to the throat. "He has information on the Court!"

Harvey groaned. That was probably true, but if Kathryn Monroe had already been silent, this assassin would most certainly be as well - at least if they conducted the interrogation strictly according to police standards.

The disagreement among the men and the resulting loss of concentration had come at just the right time for the talon, who suddenly dashed forward to Alfred, completely throwing him off his game, and before Alfred could pull the trigger, he had grabbed the gun and rammed his fist into Alfred's stomach. Spitting, the butler fell to the ground, clearing the way for the assassin. Even Edward's attempt to get up in time to get in his way did not succeed. A skillful air turn of the talon and Edward was again kicked to the ground where he lay dizzy.

But outside in the precinct the talon was awaited by the sound of a loaded shotgun and the superior grin of Oswald Cobblepot - he had probably borrowed the weapon from one of the fallen policemen. To the left and right of the small, but heavily armed, man the remaining cops stood and in a tight circle now also pointed their weapons at the assassin; there were no gaps and no escape.

"Surprise." Oswald altered the angle of his shotgun, which was less a necessity than a threatening gesture.

"Now put your hands up nice and slowly and get down on the ground," growled Alvarez, who stood next to Oswald, whereupon all the police officers also altered the angle of their guns and took a small step forward.

At first the talon looked from left to right, calculating his probability of escaping alive from this situation. He seemed to estimate it to be relatively low, because shortly afterwards he slowly raised his fists. However, when he reached his chin, he suddenly shoved something between his lips in a movement impossible for anyone present to follow.

Oswald raised his brows in shock. He wasn't actually planning to-?

"Hands in the air," Alvarez repeated sternly. "And now on the ground."

And then came the sound Oswald had feared: the sound of a capsule being crushed by teeth.

"No, **no!** " He raced forward, but before he could even touch the talon with his fingertips, foam formed in front of the talon's mouth and the assassin fell forward with a gasp and drew his last breath. "Argh!" Hissing, Oswald clenched his hands into fists and stamped on the ground with his good leg. All the things he could have gotten out of that talon...

For another moment Oswald remained standing in front of the lifeless body, even kicked his arm in a probing manner, before a shock ran through him and he hurried into the interrogation room.

"Edward!" He knelt down on the floor beside his boyfriend, who hissed, helped him into a sitting position.

"I'm fine and kicking too, thanks for asking," Bullock grumbled, leaning against the interrogation table and holding up his hands, which were still pierced by the sword. The agonizing pain had given way to adrenaline-induced drivel.

Meanwhile, with shaky legs and heavy breath, Alfred got to his feet and held his aching stomach.

"If it was up to me, you would have been killed in this," Oswald spat. "How could you let the Court take out Kathryn? Is the GCPD not even capable of protecting its prisoners?!" The source of all his anger was audibly and visibly not only the aforementioned failure to protect Kathryn Monroe, but also all the incidents Oswald had been involved in today because of Harvey Bullock.

"Want me to show ya what I'm capable of?" Bullock barked back and made attempts to storm towards Oswald, holding the blade piercing his palms with the tip pointing in his direction - improvisation was everything.

Oswald, too, seemed eager to get into a fight with the captain, snarled and took a step forward. But before they could jump on each other like two roosters, Oswald was held back by Ed and Harvey by Alfred with a grip around the shoulders - now they could only growl at each other.

"What happened to the assassin, Oswald? Was he able to escape," Ed asked in an attempt to divert the tense atmosphere between Harvey and his boyfriend.

"The talon killed himself in a _fairly dramatic_ fashion," Oswald replied in an amused sneer. He would love to have such self-sacrificing subordinates.

Harvey turned away from Ed and Oswald with a loud hiss. "Damn it!" He had just gotten comfortable with the idea of venting his exuberant rage on the assassin - during a simple police interrogation, of course.

"Even if the woman from the Court is dead, we still have the owl, right?" Alfred said enthusiastically, whereupon Harvey nodded thoughtfully several times.

"The owl, right..." he said, absent at first, before opening his eyes in panic. " **The owl!** "

He left the interrogation room in a hurry, praying that nothing had happened to the crystal statue.

\---

As a matter of fact, nothing had happened to the statue and fifteen minutes later, under the guidance of Lucius Fox, they were already able to take a look at the projected map of Gotham. Fox had been visibly uncomfortable being in the presence of Edward Nygma, who, ever since Fox had solved the riddle of Jim Gordon's whereabouts, had somehow developed a strange obsession with him; the whole time Nygma had been grinning at him in an odd manner and calling him 'Foxy', which seemed to bother Penguin. The mayor and underworld boss acted grumpy throughout the entire conversation, urging Alfred and Harvey, who by now had both hands covered in a thick bandage, to leave as soon as possible.

In the car he then informed Gabe, gave him the addresses of the remaining hideouts, so that he could distribute himself with enough men to the various locations. Harvey, Alfred, Ed and Oswald soon reached a mansion under the flickering of blue lights and the wailing of sirens.

"What is wrong with you, Oswald?", Edward asked for the third time, while they all - with a weapon at hand - climbed the steps to the first floor.

"It's nothing," replied Oswald for the third time, but his snotty voice betrayed the lie.

"Tell me what your problem is," Ed demanded sternly. No matter how many times he went over the last few hours in his head, he simply couldn't find a reason for Oswald's sudden anger.

"I don't have a problem!" He had stopped for a moment to stomp once on the stone step of the stairs. 

" _I know you_ , Oswald. You can't lie to me. No matter what your problem is, throwing tantrums like a child won′t get you anywhere."

"I am _not_ throwing tantrums!" Oswald cried out in a childish rebuke, grabbing hold of the banister because he had almost slipped on the stone steps due to overzealousness.

"Would you two please shut up!" Harvey admonished, who had now arrived at the top step with Alfred. He indicated to the butler to rush forward at his command, while Oswald wrinkled his nose in the background and roughly pushed past Edward to catch up with the others. Ed followed with a perplexed expression and a sigh. Sometimes Oswald behaved just like a spoiled child and he would lie if he said he wasn't annoyed by it.

They rushed into the room, raised their guns against an opponent who seemed to be long gone. But he had left something behind. At a long table behind iron lamps with an orange glow were men and women in masks, the board of directors of the Court of Owls, with their throats cut, some leaning lifelessly against their chairs, others with dead eyes and in a pool of their own blood on the tabletop, others thrown to the ground like garbage, onto the red carpet stained black by blood.

"What the-" breathed Harvey. " _Well_... guess their last meeting didn't go so rosy... a straight-up execution."

Alfred lowered his gun. "Who killed them?"

Edward strutted around the table, brooding. "Perhaps the real leader was dissatisfied with his men."

"And so he killed 'em all?" Harvey asked, frowning.

As if in answer to their many questions, one of the men thought dead suddenly began to gurgle. Alfred was the first one to see him. "Bullock. This one's still alive."

The captain grabbed the man who was about to choke on his own blood by his collar and pulled him up. "Where is Bruce Wayne? Where's the bomb?" he asked, screaming in a hard voice.

The man coughed. "We... were betrayed..."

Harvey got impatient, shook the man. "By whom? Tell me!"

"The leader, Bruce Wayne - they killed us."

Glances of astonishment were exchanged, which eventually stuck with Alfred, who had become completely pale with consternation. Bruce should have killed someone?! He couldn't believe that for the life of him! His boy had a good heart! It had to be a lie!

" _Fantastic_. So now we're chasing after the murdering Wayne boy and some mysterious leader," Oswald spat annoyed. He wanted to find Strange and then go home - a stabbing headache slowly settled in his skull; this day had been too much for him, and he didn't mean the whole thing with the GCPD, the murdering talon and the dead Court members, but his interactions with Edward. First the kiss, then the talk about sexual issues, then this nasty thing with Lucius Fox. What did Edward see in that police bootlicker anyway? Admittedly, he was intelligent, but apart from that, he had such a disgustingly decent aura about him; he lacked the darkness that gave a human the necessary character to be interesting for Oswald.

Oswald knew that he was jealous (of whatever Ed and Fox had); he also knew that it made no sense to be jealous, after all, Edward was _his_ boyfriend. But he still didn't want Ed to look at other people the way he had looked at Lucius Fox - so excited, adoring, desiring(?). He would talk to Edward about it, but perhaps not necessarily in the presence of Harvey Bullock and the Wayne boy's manservant.

"My boy is not a killer! That's a bloddy lie," Alfred protested in response to Oswald's statement.

"Either way – he's not here."

Harvey, looking at Oswald, dug out his cell phone. "I'm gonna call Alvarez and ask what they found. Maybe you can do the same."

But before Oswald could call Gabe, his phone rang, displaying Gabe's number. "Gabe? Did you find anything?"

"Yes, boss. We saw Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne - was anyone else with him?"

The others listened attentively.

Alfred jumped forward, "Bruce? Where is he?" But Oswald held him at a distance with an outstretched arm, concentrating on listening to Gabe's voice.

"Yeah, there was an old man with him."

That didn't sound like Hugo Strange, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. "Give me the address. You will stay on the spot and keep the building covered from the outside in case they leave. Under no circumstances are you to enter without us, do you understand?"

"Roger that, boss."

As soon as Oswald hung up, he was under siege by Alfred and Harvey.

"You know where Bruce is? C'mon, tell us the location!"

Pursing his lips, Oswald tilted his head to one side. "And risk you leaving us here? No, thanks. I'll tell you the address as soon as we get into the car." He turned shuffling to the door frame. " _Chop, chop_ , before they disappear again."

\---

Gabe waited with two more of Oswald's henchmen at a distance from the building by the side of the road.

"Good work, Gabe. I knew I could count on you," Oswald praised him in a manner one would praise a well-behaved dog, tapping Gabe twice on the upper arm before he turned towards the building with a determined gaze. "Let's see who's home."

Edward checked his bullets and then rotated the cylinder of the revolver, and Harvey and Alfred also prepared their weapons, then sneaked to the entrance on quick yet quiet soles, while Oswald followed at a slight distance, using the three other men like a living shield. Gabe and the two other henchmen, on the other hand, were instructed by Oswald to continue to stand guard in front of the building so as not to risk anyone getting away from them.

Once inside, they could already hear voices whose origin appeared to be behind a glass double door covered by curtains. But while Alfred and Harvey immediately rushed towards the door, Edward fell back to Oswald's level and the two criminals took a quick glance at each other.

"GCPD! Nobody mo-", Harvey began, but was stopped in his speech by a talon who had been standing just behind the door and punched him hard in the face once before he disarmed Alfred with a deft gesture of his hand and pulled the two men into an unequal fight. In a brief moment of superiority, Harvey managed to capture the talon in a grip.

"Go get Bruce!"

Alfred didn't have to be told twice, he bent down for his gun and didn't stop running even when Harvey was thrown to the ground by the talon, screaming.

"Why are you just standing there!?" cried the captain in Ed's and Oswald's direction, but the two men had already turned smiling towards another person who was standing in the middle of the room, overwhelmed, Dr. Hugo Strange.

Oswald walked past the busy talon, whose fistfight with Harvey now moved more to the left corner of the room, leaving the door completely unprotected. "Professor Strange, I am _so happy_ to see you again," he said mockingly.

Strange didn't seem to share the feeling, for he staggered a step back and wrinkled his nose in a tense manner. "Mr. Cobblepot..."

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind coming with us."

At Oswald's words Edward had lifted his revolver, aimed between Strange's eyes. The doctor immediately raised both hands.

"Obviously, I surrender. Take me with you wherever you please."

"Wise decision."

"Wait a minute! Where you going!?", Harvey yelled panting for air as the talon wrestled him to the ground.

Oswald grinned impudently. "It's been _a pleasure_ working with you, Bullock, but Ed and I have found what we were looking for - so please excuse us."

The talon did not seem willing to let Ed and Oswald escape with Dr. Strange, for he broke away from Harvey after the sentence and made attempts to attack the two other men. However, a shot from Edward in his chest sent him to the floor, allowing Ed and Oswald to escape through the door. At first Harvey wanted to run after them, but Strange had not been the reason for their coming here, but Bruce Wayne, so he ran after Alfred instead.

"Tracking you down was easier than I thought," said Edward in amused smugness, giving Strange a condescending glance. "Almost boring."

The doctor replied nothing, just squinted dissatisfied at the ground. He didn't like being constantly passed around like a prize between the various criminal groups in Gotham and he longed for the quiet days in his laboratory with Miss Peabody. Although he had been the henchman of the Court of Owls back then as well, he had at least had a certain amount of freedom of which he could only dream today.

Meanwhile, Ed, Strange and Oswald had arrived back on the street. The sun had already disappeared behind the skyline of Gotham, the city's black silhouette in front of a brushstroke of fire, leaving behind the gray cloud cover and darkness that were as typical for Gotham as the bank robberies on Friday.

Oswald peeked at Gabe and his two other henchmen, then at Ed, " The six of us won't fit in one car. Any ideas on how we're getting out of here?"

Grinning, Edward pulled a key out of his jacket and when he pressed the unlock button, a sound emanated from the police car they'd arrived in.

"Good thinking," praised Oswald as he got into the car, while Edward pushed the doctor into the back seat and then took the wheel.

"Would you mind telling me what you intend to do with me and where you're taking me?" asked Strange after the car had entered the inner city traffic.

"But of course, old friend." Grinning, Oswald leaned his head back, turned his face towards the professor. "You are going to create for us an antidote to the virus you developed for the Court."

Strange lowered the corners of his mouth in a distant manner. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Oswald giggled, then raised an index finger in playful admonition. "Now, now, not so secretive, doctor. Sooner or later, you'll talk. _Personally_ , I'd rather hope for later, because I have something _very special_ planned for you."

"Where do we take him?" Edward asked, made Oswald raise his eyebrows.

" _Hello_ , you've been driving for twenty minutes - where were you planning to go?"

Edward tried to ignore his boyfriend's hostile and annoyed tone. Apparently, Oswald was still in a bad mood. "Do you want to take him to a safe house - perhaps that one by the docks?" They hadn't expected to find Dr. Strange so quickly, so they hadn't yet made arrangements to equip one of Oswald's many safe houses with a laboratory and sufficient security personnel. So now it was time to improvise - something Edward, who was more of a planner, did not like to do.

"We can't risk him being found, especially by Fish."

"Fish..." Strange swallowed. " _Uh-oh..._ "

"She's looking for you so you can create her monster army. _Fish_ \- once she gets something stuck in her pretty little head..." He grinned broadly. " Well, you know her yourself."

As if taken over by a sudden panic, the professor jumped up in his seat. "She mustn't find me - I cannot make her the army she wants."

"As long as you make us our antidote, there's no reason why we should turn you over to Fish," Oswald said with a shrug.

When his cell phone rang, Oswald already believed that it was Harvey who wanted to reclaim Strange, but it turned out to be even worse; instead of the police captain, his chief of staff Tarquin Stemmel called him.

"Oswald Cobblepot, Mayor of Gotham," he answered with a sublime smile.

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Mr. Mayor, but there's a problem with the orphan boy you left in my custody."

Oswald's eyelids shot up; he had completely forgotten about Martin. "Is he still with you?"

"Yes, but we are no longer at City Hall."

Oswald, pondering, took his lower lip between his teeth. Perhaps he was on his way to the orphanage. Martin was certainly angry with him. After all, Oswald had promised him to return after his business with the police.

"In fact, we are outside your mansion," Tarquin explained with audible discomfort.

Oswald blinked perplexed. "You... are where?"

"Outside your mansion. The boy refused to return to the orphanage without a proper goodbye, Mr. Mayor. And though I wouldn't otherwise stoop to taking orders from children, I thought it wiser in this case. The boy has threatened to jeopardize your reputation if I don't bring him here." Tarquin lowered his voice to a whisper. "Is it possible the boy knows of your ongoing association with Edward Nygma?"

Oswald smiled. This child was more cunning than his age would suggest. "No need for worry, I'm already on my way home." He hung up and caught Edward's questioning glance.

"Home?"

Oswald made a waving gesture. "Yes - change of plans. We're gonna keep Professor Strange at my mansion for the time being."

"Do you really think it's a good idea to house a scientist who experiments on humans in the same place we sleep?"

Oswald squeezed his eyelids shut as if in a sudden pain, before exhaling with fake amusement. "Hmph. If it's too dangerous for you, maybe your new best friend will take you in."

Edward twitched his brows in confusion. Soon after, an angry expression was carved into his features. "Who are you talking about?" He had no idea where Oswald's sudden hostility was coming from or who he was talking about. Why did his boyfriend choose today of all days when they had finally taken a step forward in their relationship to present all of his worst qualities?!

Oswald didn't answer the question, merely peered out of the window hissing. Apparently he expected Edward to figure out for himself who he was talking about.

Unlike Fish Mooney, Dr. Hugo Strange was trained to read interpersonal signals. The looks that Edward and Oswald exchanged, the jealousy-riddled mood, the shrill pain in Oswald's voice - for Strange these signals were clear. Grinning, he brought his palms together. " _How very interesting..._ "

\---

Tarquin and Martin waited in the living room - Olga was still in the property and had let them in and provided them with tea and cookies.

Oswald had come in through the front door alone - Edward, on the other hand, had brought Professor Strange into the house through a back entrance without being seen, and was just storing him tied up and gagged in a closet; he could stay there for a while until they knew exactly where they were going to take him.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Mayor, but-" Tarquin began while rising to his feet, but Oswald stopped him with an admonishing hand movement.

"Don't. I promised Martin I would come back."

"It's not your fault if the GCPD encroaches on your time."

"And yet, a promise is a promise." He grabbed Martin's shoulders and smiled encouragingly. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, young friend."

Martin returned the smile before shaking his head to deny the unspoken question whether he was angry with Oswald.

"I would agree to drive the boy back to the orphanage. Then you can enjoy your evening in peace, Mr. Mayor."

Oswald raised his eyebrows, tilted his head and smiled. "That will not be necessary."

"Pardon me?"

"It's getting late. I will personally see to it that Martin is taken back to the orphanage first thing in the morning."

"I'm not sure what the management of the orphanage will say."

"Just tell them that the boy is staying with me tonight, and if there are any problems, they can call me." He made a throw-away gesture. "You may go now, Tarquin."

The chief of staff seemed to want to say something, but held it back and nodded instead. "As you please. See you tomorrow, sir."

It was only after Tarquin had left the property that Oswald turned back to Martin. "I hope I've acted as you wish."

The boy nodded euphorically.

"Well, then let's see where you sleep tonight, huh?"

Oswald ordered Olga to prepare one of the empty bedrooms for the boy, and just as he was about to refill Martin's teacup and sit on the sofa with him, Edward came down the stairs to the upper floor.

"What's the third bedroom for? I don't think Strange needs to-" But while still talking, he had recognized Martin. His face grew hard. "Oswald? Could I have a word with you?"

"Of course."

They took a few steps away from the sofa. "What is _he_ doing here? Hadn't we discussed this?"

"I promised to spend time with him today."

"We have more important things to do."

Oswald sighed. "Professor Strange isn't running away, and there's no point in commissioning a laboratory until tomorrow morning anyway. After all, the bomb hasn't even been detonated yet, and even if it goes off today, it can't hurt to keep the city and the governor dangling and worrying about the well-being of the whole state a little longer, before we offer him a way out of this mess - and by 'we' I mean 'you', because as mayor it would be to my disadvantage if I were to be called a hostage-taker of the city."

Edward averted his eyes. He hadn't actually spoken of Strange. Instead, he had hoped to talk more with Oswald this evening about their relationship and perhaps even go a few steps further.

When Oswald was about to go back to the sofa, Ed held him back, still with his eyes averted, grabbing his wrist. "Will you finally tell me why you're mad at me?"

Oswald hissed in protest, but then sighed and closed his eyes. "What is it between you and Lucius Fox?"

Ed lifted his eyelids in confusion. Was _Oswald_ really jealous of _Foxy_? "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing!" the other man raged with hands clenched into fists.

Edward, with resignation, expelled the air. "He is an intelligent man - I admire that. That is all."

Oswald had completely turned away from Edward. He did not want his boyfriend to see his trembling lips. Had he really overcome the beautiful Isabella to now be forced to compete with the highly intelligent Lucius Fox? Fox and Ed were on the same intellectual level - what did Oswald have to offer in comparison?

He flinched when he felt Edward's hands on his shoulders, massaging against his skin. "You are also an intelligent man, Oswald," he breathed against his ear, then grabbed Oswald's chin from behind and turned his face in his direction.

But as he bent down to kiss him, Oswald held him at a distance with one hand and turned his gaze away again. "Not now, Ed. It's... been a long day and after all, we have a guest." He broke away from his boyfriend and returned to the sofa where Martin was waiting for him.

Edward stayed behind and, unnoticed by Oswald, had clenched one hand into a fist.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Tell me if you liked it!  
> Hope u are ready for the sleepover with Martin in the next chapter and Edwards frustration!


	16. Do not feed the doctor when there are children present!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Strange and Martin under their roof, Ed and Oswald can expect a very long night.

Chapter 16

 **Do not feed the doctor when there are children present**!

"I am truly awed, young friend. You did exactly what I taught you," praised Oswald after he sat down next to Martin on the sofa. With a broad smile he slapped his hand on his own knee. "You are turning into quite the rascal. You recognized my weakness as mayor and used it against Tarquin to get your way."

Martin grinned self-satisfied, his nose pointed to the ceiling. The fact that he had found in Oswald someone who encouraged his darkness rather than suppressing it, filled him with a deep satisfaction.

"Won't you join us, Ed?" Oswald asked, looking at his boyfriend who had not moved from his position. His facial expression seemed stiff, almost sinister, and when he raised his eyes at the question, Oswald lowered his brows in irritation.

"First I get dried, then drowned. The longer I drift in the wet, the stronger the taste is you get. _What am I?_ "

When Oswald and Martin just gave a confused expression, Edward, still stiff-faced, turned away from them and towards the kitchen. "Tea. I'll get two more cups."

After arriving in the kitchen, he leaned on the counter-top with a sigh. He was still wearing that horrible police uniform he had stolen from one of the GCPD officers before tying him up with the bomb squad and chaining him to a lantern in the backyard of the station next to a large dumpster. He pulled the cap off his head and threw it towards the kitchen counter, but, while still in the air, it was caught by someone sitting on the surface, who grinned and looked down at him from above.

"You...", growled Ed, which made the other one grin even broader.

 _"Did you think you had gotten rid of me? Oh boy..."_ He shook his head in bewilderment. _"I'm part of you, Ed."_

"I don't need you."

With an amused sneer, Not-Ed leaned back on the counter-top, crossed his arms behind his head and elegantly threw one leg over the other. _"Uh-huh, yeah..._ _‒_ _no. You know, I have the opposite impression. Aren't you tired of being constantly rejected by him like a number-two choice?"_

Edward roughly loosened his tie as if the question of his alter ego had suffocated him. "Oswald is merely not ready yet," he argued.

_"Oh, please! Then what was the point of starting a relationship in the first place, huh? Except for the few little kisses, which he already denies you again, nothing has changed between you. You are friends, partners in crime... but definitely not lovers."_

Edward growled, averted his eyes. Not-Ed was saying exactly what had been haunting his mind the whole time.

 _"Maybe it's you, Ed. He doesn't trust you. His feelings for you are not strong enough. He only wants to tie you to him so you'll remain by his side..."_ Not-Ed smiled, meanwhile sitting on the edge of the counter surface. _"That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? I know everything you know, even the things you don't even admit to yourself."_

Ed lowered his gaze. "I do feel rejected by him..."

 _"Yowzah!"_ cheered his alter ego.

"But I still don't need your help."

 _"Don't be such a bore. I promise you: with me in control he won't be able to get his hands off us,"_ he purred with a smoky voice and mischievous expression.

"I told him I would not try to rush him."

 _"Where's the fun in that?!"_ Not-Ed once struck the surface of the counter with both hands in an emphasizing manner.

"He already disliked your last ideas, why should it be any different this time, huh?" Ed argued growling, while he fetched two tea cups from a cupboard with trembling hands.

His alter ego grinned and lowered his chin in a challenging way. _"Oh, Ed, don't tell me you're afraid he might like me better?"_

"He doesn't like you better!" In a roar he had turned to his alter ego and thrown one of the cups at him. But it didn't hit anybody, smashed on the wall into several pieces.

"Ed?"

Gasping for air, Edward shot around on his heels and tore open his eyelids in panic when he saw Oswald standing in the doorway. "Is everything all right?", he asked anxiously; his confusion-riddled frown and unsettled posture made Ed feel queasy. How much did he hear? He had told Oswald about his alter ego, but he had never wanted his friend to hear a conversation between them ‒ he was deeply ashamed of being such a mess.

He swallowed, then grabbed the frame of his glasses with trembling fingers. "I'm fine."

"Huh -- you seemed to be talking to someone."

"Just... with myself." Ed could not keep eye contact, squinted down at the tips of his shoes. An unpleasant heat had accumulated under his shirt collar.

"With _you_ or with-" Oswald started, then made an accentuating movement with his head, "your 'other self'?"

Edward closed his eyelids as if in pain. "We don't always agree with one another ‒ in fact, we rarely do."

"I see -- what did you talk about?" Oswald's gaze glided past Ed to the shards, but he deliberately kept quiet about it.

Oswald seemed interested, but the way he spoke ‒ so free from amusement and ingenuousness ‒ indicated that he found Edward's conversation with his alter ego rather disconcerting and ‒ worst of all for Edward - abnormal.

So he did something you would never do in a harmonious relationship: he lied. "Nothing special - _trifles_. Now, if you'll excuse me, Oswald, I didn't leave my job at the GCPD to stroll around in a police uniform now." Still talking, he had passed Oswald, squeezed himself out of the kitchen and now set off for his bedroom.

\---

It was not until dinner that Edward showed up again, sat at the table next to Oswald, silent, and without having even a single glass of wine. Oswald tried to put a good face on the matter; he talked to Martin, told the boy the hopeful story of how he had once worked his way up from the bottom to finally be elected mayor of Gotham (leaving out the undeniably criminal activities from his story to be on the safe side), while simultaneously worrying about Edward. His jealousy of Lucius Fox, which had been so strong and mood-poisoning just a moment ago, had already faded into the background again ‒ but it had not vanished for good.

The scene in the kitchen had honestly worried him. He knew many of Edward's faces: the flamboyant show-master, the cold logician, the compassionate nurse, the nerdy oddball, but never before had he seen him so desperate and angry as he had apparently been with himself or his 'other self' earlier. He had argued with himself as if his second personality was a real carnal shell, had thrown the cup at him, yelled at him and rebuked him.

Oswald didn't know how to handle it yet. Edward, while in the Court's captivity, had stated that he and his second personality shared the same body, and the longer he thought about it now, the more he thought he understood what Ed had been talking about. The man who had tortured him and Shivan, that man had certainly been Edward's alter ego... And yet, yet Oswald didn't really understand how this swap took place and to what extent Ed and his alter ego (which perhaps coincided with 'the Riddler') were still one and the same person. On the one hand Ed seemed to be able to remember his Riddler activities, but apparently there were also gaps in his memory like for example the thing with the gemstone which Edward had not been able to remember. Oswald desperately wanted to ask Ed in order to understand him better, but apparently his friend felt uncomfortable talking about his psyche and Oswald didn't want to press him with too many questions on the subject.

"Seconds, _Mal'chik_?," Olga asked little Martin with a steaming stew pot in her gloved hands. Her cheeks were unusually rosy and she even smiled.

The boy nodded firmly and then lifted his almost empty soup plate a little to get two more ladles of goulash from the maid.

" _Lyubitel' pishchi_ ", she said with a satisfied purr and more to herself, before she added, audibly for everyone: "eating plenty important for growth". She squinted at Oswald with pursed lips, then bent down and whispered to Martin. "Else you end tiny like Mr. Cobblepot."

Martin giggled and Oswald - even though he actually wanted to reprimand Olga for her statement - briefly raised both eyebrows in surprise before he also had the maid refill his plate.

Who didn't get a second serving was Edward - but he was still not finished with his first serving anyway, eating slowly and absentmindedly. But when Olga disappeared again in the kitchen, he took a break to get up and follow the maid.

"Would you please prepare a fourth plate."

"You expecting guests?" she asked without looking up from her work.

"Just leave the plate here - I'll come back for it later."

Olga flinched irritated. "But will be cold then."

"Doesn't matter. Our _guest_ , you must know, is not fastidious."

\---

He had been forced to blow up his psychiatric facility, had been locked inside a glass enclosure and held captive by Fish Mooney in a run-down underground lab, but never before had he been so humiliated as by Edward Nygma - bound, gagged and locked in a closet like a frayed broom. The air in his far too narrow prison was hot and thick and no light fell from outside into the interior.

So he sat there for at least an hour before he blindly squinted his eyes, when suddenly someone opened the door.

"Hi, Professor," Edward sneered at him "I thought you might be hungry. After all, we don't want you to bite the dust until you've produced enough of the antidote."

Strange pleadingly put his lips forward and grumbled against the black duct tape that prevented him from speaking.

"Is there anything you'd like to say?", Edward asked mockingly, preparing to hear sentimental pleas for mercy.

At Strange's nod, he puffed out air in amusement. "Fine, but you can save yourself the trouble of screaming. There is no one here to hear your pitiful pleading." He omitted the presence of Olga and Martin on the property for good reason.

As the tape came off, the doctor gasped, before he, still a little breathless, said: "It has not escaped my notice that you are engaged in a romantic relationship with Oswald Cobblepot. And ‒ _oh my_ ," he snorted softly, "evidently you appear to be encountering some difficulties. Although I sadly wasn't able to be your psychiatrist for long, Mr. Nygma, I am fairly familiar with Mr. Cobblepot and his... _problems_." A little devious smile carved into his features.

Edward's face grew hard before he bent down to the man, who was tied to a chair, with a fake smile. "I know exactly what you're up to. Allow me to tell you one thing: even if you ‒ and that will never happen ‒ should, against all odds, manage to break up me and Oswald ‒ and I repeat: that will _never_ happen ‒ in no way will it improve your current predicament. Oswald and I are grown-up enough not to fight over you."

Strange's smile widened, tensing all his facial muscles. "Mr. Nygma ‒ _please_. Mr. Cobblepot has made progress during my treatment, however, his mother-complex-induced narcissism will still prevent him from acting what you call ' _grown-up_ '. But surely, given your intelligence, you've already been aware of that, haven't you?"

He heard what Strange said and understood it too. Which was the very reason why he lowered his brows with a smug smile before he with the words: "No sooner spoken than broken. _What am I_?", taped his lips shut again. " _Right_ : silence," he eventually exclaimed, had clapped his hands in playful enthusiasm once between the words. "As you will do till I took you to your dinner." If he wanted a psychological consultation, he'd pay for it! And Strange was probably the last psychiatrist Edward wanted to talk to.

He pulled the doctor clumsily by the back of his chair out of the closet and down the corridor towards his bedroom, where he had already laid his desk with both food and cutlery. He couldn't bring Strange downstairs because Oswald was there with Martin; at least that's what Edward thought, for when he suddenly heard a harrumph he turned to the side and saw Oswald and Martin standing in a doorway ‒ apparently Oswald had just shown the orphan boy his room for the night.

Oswald had raised his eyelids in panic, hinted to Edward without words but with several gestures to take Strange away as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Martin just stood there, looking seemingly unmoved at the tied man, who in turn had confusedly wrinkled his forehead ‒ he probably hadn't expected a child on the property.

In an awkward hurry, Edward pulled the chair further, pushing open the door to his bedroom with his foot, in which he disappeared with Dr. Strange.

Meanwhile, Oswald squinted worriedly down at Martin, prayed that the orphan boy would not react all too frightened and searched in his head for excuses that did not sound _completely_ ridiculous.

When the boy finally turned towards him, Oswald hesitantly opened his lips, trying to form words that his vocal chords could not produce, while one of his hands with fingers spread apart floated over Martin's shoulder, unaware as to whether the child wanted any contact with him at all after what he had seen just now. For a long time he hadn't been so afraid of anyone seeing his criminal side ‒ after all, nowadays he lived it out openly and only with the necessary obscurity so that the police couldn't arrest him.

And so he suddenly felt like he was back on that couch in the cozy, antiquated yet chic furnished apartment, sitting in front of his mother as she asked him about his real job. It had been so long since he had had a civilian in his life and he still hadn't learned how to excuse or defend something that seemed as logical and normal to him as whining about their low income seemed to others.

But then something happened that almost made him sigh with joy: Martin smiled. And so Oswald returned the smile a little tentatively and then let his emotions drive him to do something that, objectively speaking, was probably a bad idea.

"Do you wanna know who this man is?"

Unfortunately, Martin didn't have enough time to think of an answer, because Edward's stern voice suddenly came out of the crack of the door. "Oswald, don't you dare tell the child about our scheme!"

He gave a small chuckle. Perhaps Edward was right, but the opportunity to introduce this boy to his work in the manner of a successor had felt strangely good.

With one hand outstretched towards the stairs, he told Martin that they would return to the ground floor. "Should I take another look if I can find some colored pencils for you somewhere? Edward probably has some in his room, but-" he squeezed his eyelids shut, "he is busy and we don't want to disturb him for the time being. So you were drawing the whole time Tarquin took care of you, huh?"

\---

Before he tore the tape from Strange's lips again, Edward closed the door, locked it and positioned the chair in front of his laid desk. 

" _Oh my..._ " Strange puffed in disbelief. "You should at least take my advice on _this_ matter. Your relationship with Mr. Cobblepot seems far from stable enough for a child."

"He is not our child!" Edward hissed in strong protest, then continued in a halting voice, "He's just... a hobby."

"A hobby?" repeated Strange very slowly and with raised eyebrows, while Ed freed the professor from his bonds.

"Yes, a hobby!" Ed's voice had become throaty. Panting with tension, he moved the tableware on the desk until it was perfectly symmetrical with the edge. "Now eat before I decide to lock you back into that closet hungry."

In fact, Strange seemed motivated to obey by this threat. He reached for the napkin, which he unfolded in a noble manner and spread it out on his lap. "Do you still see projections of your mind, Mr. Nygma?" he asked as he reached for the spoon and dipped it into the goulash. He had only had three small conversations with Edward at Arkham but these had already been quite revealing.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Ed hissed.

"Only recently, I had some thoughts about your mental state when I learned from Kathryn that you had willingly submitted yourself to the Court. I was wondering what effect the Tetch virus might have on you and your _projections_. _It's a shame_ that I can't conduct this experiment anymore." He stared into empty space for a few seconds as if he was mourning the missed opportunity, but then he turned back to his food. "Forgive my professional curiosity, but how do your projections affect your relationship with Mr. Cobblepot? Not conducive, I suppose." He slurped the thick meat broth from his spoon with pointed lips.

Edward gave a sinister smile. "Better not tempt me, Professor. A man without a tongue can still make an excellent antidote."

Strange lowered his gaze down to his plate. "Sadly, I have to agree." He seemed to knuckle under on first glance, but his facial expressions were undermined by such haughty amusement, such arrogance, that it made Edward furious. He already had enough problems with his obtrusive alter ego, he didn't need someone to constantly analyze him and claim to understand him.

\---

After Edward had put the doctor back into the closet, he returned to Oswald and Martin to the ground floor. The two sat at the kitchen table; while Oswald had a glass of red wine and enjoyed the silence with half closed eyes and a smile on his lips, Martin was drawing with colored pencils.

"Did Strange say a word about the antidote," Oswald asked in a whisper as Edward stepped beside him, while watching absently how the red liquid danced inside his glass before sipping from the rim.

"No," Ed replied, keeping to himself that he had not yet asked the doctor about the antidote. Not that he had forgotten ‒ he, Edward Nygma, forgot nothing ‒ but Strange's remarks about him, Oswald and their relationship had upset him too much to talk to the doctor at length.

"Huh -- maybe tomorrow he'll be more talkative. Otherwise..." Oswald batted his eyelashes in devilish amusement, "there are, after all, ways and means to make him speak." He took a big sip from his glass before he tapped on the chair beside him. "Join us, Ed."

As he lowered himself onto the seat, his eyes caught a folder lying on the tabletop not far from Oswald. "What is this? Did you bring work home?" Even though he no longer worked directly for the mayor, he could not deny his curiosity about his actions.

"Oh ‒ yes." Oswald pulled the folder close. "Tarquin must have brought this when he dropped Martin off earlier. He's prepared everything in case I decide to actually finance the project of Meyer and Hayes." He opened the folder. "I wanted to take another look at everything."

"And will you? Finance it?"

"To be honest..." Oswald pushed the folder to Ed, "I was hoping to get your opinion. You know more about technology and maybe you can tell me if this invention could really work." He saw the restraint but also the curiosity in Edward's eyes. "I miss your extensive elaborations. They've always helped me in my decisions." He smiled with begging benevolence.

With a flattered smile Edward adjusted his glasses. "I can have a look at it." He skimmed the report, concentrating mainly on the construction plans for the generators. " _Fascinating_."

"So it's possible?"

"It's revolutionary." Ed practically had to tear himself away from the folder. He cleared his throat once. "But there are risks inherent in this project."

Oswald smirked. "What is a revolution without risks?"

"This technology must not fall into the wrong hands, Oswald. If one of these generators were to deliberately overcharge, it could trigger a massive explosion."

Oswald flinched. "So you're telling me that these innovative generators are also _innovative_ _bombs_? _Tempting_."

Ed raised his eyebrows in amusement. "So the prospect of the generators being turned into bombs convinces you to approve the project rather than scare you off?"

"Well, if these generators are produced under my supervision."

"The project would definitely get you voter sympathy ‒ at least until someone comes up with the idea of stealing one of the generators to blow up a building."

Oswald tilted his head with a smile. " _Oh please_ , no one in their right mind would steal from me."

"The madmen are the ones I'd rather be afraid of."

"The only lunatics who were intelligent and organized enough to pull off such a scheme are currently rotting away in Arkham -- deservedly so. And the only other criminal I would trust to pull a coup like this is sitting right next to me."

Edward grinned, broad dimples framed his coral lips, while he moved his index fingers through the air in admonitory gestures. "Do not put me on the same level with these maniacs."

"I would never even think of it."

When they heard a squeaking sound as if from wood on a smooth surface, they turned their eyes to Martin. The boy was just rolling up his drawing and sorting the pencils together.

"Are you already tired?" Oswald asked, rising from his seat. It was only seven thirty ‒ even for a grade schooler an unusual time to go to sleep.

Yet Martin nodded.

"You remember where your bedroom is?"

Another nod, then Martin circled the kitchen table to give Oswald a firm hug, which he returned with a warm smile. To Edward he merely gave a short, reserved smile, which was answered with a cold gleam, before Martin disappeared with the drawing materials to the first floor.

"Shall we go into the parlor for a few hours?"

\---

On their way to the parlor, however, Oswald had received a call from one of his henchmen who had contacts with the GCPD. Apparently Alfred and Harvey had returned without the young Bruce Wayne and had been visibly depressed. Even more interesting than that, however, was the fact that Jim Gordon had still not returned and there was no trace of him; he also seemed to be unreachable on his mobile phone. Patrol cars that had driven to Lee Thompkins' address had found the house empty. Captain Bullock had therefore set out to look for Jim Gordon, while Alfred, accompanied by several policemen, had also set off ‒ but his henchman hadn't found out what their destination was.

"Oswald, call Victor," Ed urged.

"You think the butler might be after Strange?"

"If they haven't found Bruce Wayne yet, Strange is their only lead and since Bullock knows we have him, it's quite possible we'll have visitors soon." Ed had his characteristic exuberant grin on his lips.

"You have a plan?"

Ed's gaze turned dark. "I do. You'd better get all your important mayoral decisions for the next few days out to Tarquin, Oswald."

Oswald frowned in confusion. "Why?"

The grin on Edward's lips widened and suddenly his voice turned husky. "Because you won't be free for a very long time."

\---

When Alfred, accompanied by four policemen in two patrol cars, arrived in front of the Van Dahl mansion, he was surprised to find only one man in front of the property. As he got out of the car, this man turned out to be none other than Victor Zsasz.

"Hi", the Hitman greeted politely and with a little smile on his lips, when Alfred approached him with the policemen following behind.

"Guess you are here to stop us, that correct?"

Victor pulled up the sleeve of his black jacket, squinted at his wristwatch. "Only for the next thirty minutes," he confessed in all honesty.

"We don't have time for this taradiddle." Alfred raised his gun threateningly, and the policemen had also reached for their weapons. "Stop the dramatics and scarper."

Victor's expressions got hard. "I'm not joking," he replied indignantly and with clenched jaws, but remained motionless and made no attempt to draw his guns.

"I will consider shooting you if you don't step aside, mate."

"Huh, that would be extremely unwise."

"Oh, yes, why?" Alfred asked, gnashing his teeth.

Victor pursed his lips in amusement. "Because I'm carrying a mike..." He pointed with euphorically opened lips to his lapel, where a small black microphone was in fact attached. "See? And in case of gunfire, Professor Strange _will be killed._ " He smiled. "So if you wanna stop the good doctor from..." he put two fingers to his lips, resembling a gun, " _Bang Bang_ ‒ eating a bullet, you'd better wait till _the boss_ wants to see you."

Alfred's hands trembled with rage. Bruce was in the clutches of some lunatic and had been brainwashed - how could he calmly wait for an invitation!? "The boss? You mean Oswald Cobblepot, right? What is the mayor's interest in Professor Strange?"

Victor tilted his head in amusement, his eyelids wide open, his mouth adorned with a smile. "Mr. Cobblepot? No ‒ no, I no longer work for him."

Alfred frowned in irritation. Then why was he protecting the entrance to the Van Dahl mansion? "Who is this boss, then? Go on, tell me!"

"Someone who understands how important it is to have fun at work," Victor replied with a grin and then took another look at his wristwatch. "A third of the time has passed already. You're doing great, guys."

Alfred and the policemen lowered their weapons, now reluctantly surrendering to the assassin's game.

Everyone looked down the driveway in surprise when, during the last five minutes, a black Dodge Diplomat ‒ Captain Harvey Bullock's car ‒ stopped in front of the mansion with squealing tyres. But it was not only the police captain who left the car, but also detective James Gordon. Harvey had freed him from the hands of the infected Leslie Thompkins, who had taken Jim to the Sirens to kill the despised Barbara Kean in some sort of romantic act. She had hoped thereby to feed Jim's dark side and to get him to take the virus of his own will, but Barbara had eventually been able to send a message to Harvey with the help of Jim, Butch and Tabitha and the Captain had managed to surround the club and arrest Lee Thompkins. While Lee was then driven to the GCPD to be taken into custody for the time being, Harvey and Jim had immediately made their way to the Van Dahl mansion without any regard for traffic rules.

Both had drawn their weapons at the same time, pointed them at the unimpressed Victor.

"Do not shoot ‒ otherwise Strange will be killed," shouted Alfred, but this only caused the policemen to buckle for a few seconds before they positioned themselves in front of Victor, only two steps away, their weapons still at the ready.

"Where is your feathered boss?" growled Bullock, which made Victor moan.

"I don't like having to repeat myself," the Hitman replied angrily, barely getting his jaws apart.

"He says he works for someone else now," Alfred explained.

"God, which nutjob wants to call himself 'King of Gotham' now?" moaned Harvey.

And as if to answer his question, a loud switching noise suddenly activated numerous spotlights that projected a green light onto the façade of the Van Dahl mansion. And under the light of these lamps Edward Nygma, the Riddler, strutted in a green suit and bowler hat before the audience. In his hands he held a black cane, which was an old model of Oswald's, so it was too short for Edward; but it was sufficient enough to swing it meaningfully and to put it over his shoulder.

"Good evening, gentlemen. How nice of you to arrive in such large numbers," he greeted in the manner of a show host, with both hands stretched out.

"Nygma?" Harvey had frowned in confusion, as had Jim and Alfred.

"Where is Oswald? We know you took Hugo Strange. We need him back," said Jim, who had been briefed in Harvey's car on the events of the last few hours.

"Let's make this quick, yes? After all, you don't have all night, do you?" He gave a playful wink, which made the men growl. "The Mayor and Professor Strange are at my mercy. And this mansion here is now under my control."

Jim, Harvey and Alfred raised their brows in complete bewilderment. Was Nygma messing with them? Was this a bad joke? But unlike them, the ordinary policemen actually seemed disturbed by Edward's speech, whispered anxiously, worried about the allegedly taken hostage mayor.

"Save the bad act, Nygma ‒ we know you and Penguin are in cahoots," Harvey snorted and pointed his gun at Edward.

The latter giggled and raised his hands up to his chest in gesticulation. "It was _far too easy_ to trick Oswald into thinking I was on his side. It's a wonder this flightless bird wasn't knocked from its throne much sooner. "

" _Trick_? You freaks shoved your tongues down your throats in my office!" Bullock argued with visible disgust, which also made Jim grimace.

Edward closed his eyelids. And while his head cried out 'I wish', he had to pretend on the outside that this statement amused him. "Harvey, Harvey, you don't really think _I_ would fall for someone like _him,_ do you? I just needed to make him believe that I had feelings for him so that he would trust me."

"Wow… that's cold ‒ even for a putz like you" Harvey breathed surprised.

Jim arched his brows. "All so you could rule the underworld?"

Edward waved his hand in refusal. "Oh, Jimbo, you really have no idea. The underworld doesn't interest me ‒ it's just the cherry on top of the actual cake."

"And what is the cake?" Harvey asked, continuing the food metaphor seamlessly.

"That," with a broad, euphoric grin, Ed brought the thumbs and index fingers of both his hands together, had meanwhile clamped the cane under his armpit; his voice built up tension, which vanished again when he continued with hurried words: "you'll learn soon enough."

"It's of no importance who's working with who now, innit? What matters is that Professor Strange is somewhere inside this mansion!" Alfred interjected, raising his gun single-minded. "Now, are you going to hand him over freely, or do I have to make myself clear?"

Ed lowered his head in a disappointed exhalation. "You really have to learn that not everything can be achieved by blind force alone."

Alfred suddenly heard two whistles next to his ear and as he turned his head, there stood the grinning Victor Zsasz holding a gun to the back of his head.

Ed swung his cane deftly in one hand. "But I am not a monster. I'm giving you a chance to win the information you seek."

"Let me guess, you want us to answer riddles? _Shocker..._ ", Jim said unnerved, which darkened Edward's gaze while his amused grin remained.

"Correct," he breathed. "But first, what answers do you seek?"

"When will the bomb go off?"

Before his appearance in front of the estate, Edward had asked Hugo Strange for the most important information about the bomb and Bruce Wayne ‒ and under the threat of certain torture techniques, the doctor had quickly spilled the beans.

"If it were nine hours earlier, it would be half as long until midnight as if it were four hours later. What time is it?"

The faces of everyone present froze.

Harvey moaned loudly. "Honestly now -- Math!? Can't you give us one of your usual riddles? The big hand is on 12, the little hand on 11. What time is it, or something?"

Edward ignored Harvey's childish complaints and instead dramatically pulled down the left sleeve of his silk green suit, revealing a silver wristwatch. " _Tick tock_ ‒ time's running. If you want a chance to disarm the bomb, you'd better hurry."

The men began to calculate in panic ‒ Harvey even used his fingers. Again and again you could hear desperate moaning and hissing. And so it was nine thirty when Edward showed 'mercy'.

He giggled in superiority. "Look at the infamous GCPD. None of you _nincompoops_ are capable of running a simple calculation. Don't you want to save little Brucey and the city?"

Enraged by these words, Alfred stormed forward screaming, probably wanting to tackle Edward, but the latter took a step back with a grin and pulled a remote control out of his pants, the sight of which made Alfred falter.

"Ah, ah, I wouldn't try that", Ed threatened with a grin. "One push on the button and a signal is sent to the explosive collars I put on the dear mayor and Strange, which will make them go _kabooom_ \- you follow? By not trying to solve my riddle, you're only wasting precious time."

"Shall I kill the manservant?" Victor asked with a grin, pointing the muzzle of his gun at the back of Alfred's head.

"Wait!" Jim had an idea, which made Victor drop the corners of his mouth with discontent. "You keep mentioning that if we don't solve this riddle soon, we won't have enough time; does that mean the bomb is going off today?"

Ed smirked. "You're smarter than you look, Jimbo," he said in a mocking tone. "But do you have the answer to my riddle?"

"In that case there are only two possible answers: 10:00 or 11:00pm."

"And which is it?" Edward asked in a smoky lowered voice.

Jim paused, did the calculations in his head and then tore open his eyelids in panic. "We need to go ‒ _now_ ‒ the bomb goes off in thirty minutes."

As Harvey and Jim started to get into the car, Alfred stopped them. "Hold on! We don't know _where_ It'll go off yet!"

Growling, Harvey clenched his hands into fists. "Damn it! Now tell us where the bomb will go off!"

"No, tell us where Bruce is!" Alfred demanded.

"I'll even tell you both. The bomb and Bruce are located opposite each other. After all, if you have the choice, you want a good view of the _fall of Gotham_." He swung his cane and grabbed his bowler hat in dramatic fashion. "So listen closely: _Bruce Wayne_ is where Gotham's richest tower above the city."

"Richest... above... " Harvey muttered, swamped, but Alfred knew the answer immediately. He sprinted towards the car and while getting in he shouted: "Wayne Enterprise."

"Wait, we're coming with you," Jim yelled after him, but the butler was already racing away in the patrol car. "Harvey, we haven't got much time to disarm the bomb. So you and you two will follow Alfred and try to stop or at least delay the detonation." He glanced at the two remaining officers. "You will come with me. I will request support from the bomb squad on the way. You will help clear the area, and I will try to defuse the bomb."

"But all we know is it will be detonated across the street from Wayne Enterprise."

"No, we know exactly where it is."

Harvey flinched in confusion. "Sorry, Buddy, I'm not following you."

" _The hour will come when the clock stops and Gotham falls_ ," he quoted dramatically.

"So what? That's what the old witch from the Court said - how does that help us?"

"Across the street from Wayne Enterprise is a train station..." He made an emphatic head movement.

When it dawned on him, Harvey stuck out a finger. "The station clock!"

Jim got into the remaining patrol car with two of the policemen, gave Harvey, who was just climbing behind the wheel of his car, a determined look. "I'm counting on you."

"And we're all counting on you."

After they drove off, Edward chuckled softly as he put the remote back into his pocket. "You won't make it. And when you come back to demand the antidote, negotiations can begin."

\---

He leaned the cane against the staircase and took off his bowler hat before entering the darkly lit parlor with a satisfied smile on his lips.

"The things you said out there were a little hurtful." Oswald sat on an armchair with his legs crossed and a whiskey glass in his hand, indicated to his boyfriend by a gesture of his hand to sit on the second upholstery. "I have sent Gabe to get the antidote for us."

Edward lowered himself onto the armchair while Oswald poured him a whiskey. "Strange told you where he hid it?" It all happened quicker than they had anticipated. If the antidote had already been produced in large quantities, they didn't even have to set up a laboratory. Now all they had to do was prevent Strange from falling into the hands of their enemies until they had sold the antidote.

Oswald smiled deviously, his head tilted to one side like a child admitting to having stolen sweets. "After I had a little fun with him. Finally, I was able to make use of _that_."

Edward took a sip from his glass. "I remember your joy when you heard it was offered by a gang on the black market."

Oswald raised both brows in amusement. " _Well_ , Hugo Strange did _not_ share my joy."

"Hm, somehow I get the feeling you tortured him even though he already told you where the antidote was hidden." Strange was a man who was quick to surrender when his own integrity was in danger, and since he was the inventor of this device with which Oswald had once been tortured in Arkham, and therefore had to know about the intensity of the pain, Edward could not imagine that Strange would want it on his skull for even a second.

Oswald smirked, glanced aside briefly as if contemplating, before nodding quickly several times. " _Yes, I did_ ," he confessed without a hint of remorse.

They both laughed. Their plan began to take shape. What could possibly go wrong now?

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tee-hee-hee - this night is not over yet.  
> Tell me if you liked the chapter :3


	17. On hugging and backstabbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward has to struggle more and more with his alter ego and Oswald has to deal with disloyal subordinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. The last days were so hot that I could hardly concentrate. I feel so sluggish...  
> Hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Chapter 17

**On hugging and backstabbing**

"Ed?" Oswald had clasped his hand around the armrest of his chair, turned his gaze towards his friend with a sad blink. "I would like to apologize to you."

"Apologize? For what?"

Oswald sighed in self-criticism. "For my jealousy of Lucius Fox. We're in a relationship and I should trust you. But when I saw the way you looked at him-- so... yearning..." He shook his head. "I don't know. And then your show out there-- I know you only said those things to make them believe you, but it still hurt." It hadn't just been Edward's words that hurt him, but also the fact that all those men out there had believed him almost immediately. Was Oswald really so unlovable in their eyes?

"I'll never understand how a man like you has such a low opinion of himself."

With blushing cheeks, Oswald squinted first to the floor, then up at Edward, while a bashful smile drew long dimples in his cheeks. "A man like me?"

Edward leaned forward in his chair, placed his hand on Oswald's, who then looked down nervously. "A man beloved and hailed as a hero by the entire city and feared by all criminals and the GCPD."

Oswald smirked and raised his eyebrows. "I don't think Fish fears me." The only time he had seen something like fear in her eyes ‒ and that because of him ‒ had been on the roof of the building from which Oswald had finally pushed her down into the river. But that had been ages ago, and since her resurrection, Fish seemed to have become even more confident.

"She will," Edward replied in a dark whisper, his eyes glowing with certainty.

"We should be prepared for her to show up here soon." Her contacts weren't as good as Oswald's, but that didn't mean Edward's performance in front of the property would remain hidden from her ‒ especially since besides Jim and Harvey there had also been ordinary cops present, who would sell this story happily for a few bucks.

"If the bomb goes off in less than half an hour, the city will be in such chaos that it will be difficult even for her to get information about Strange. By the time she knows we have him, we'll have the antidote in our possession. Then all we have to do is protect Strange until the deal with the Governor is done." From Edward's mouth that task sounded simple.

"I think you're forgetting one little thing, Ed: _Fish has an army of monsters_. How are we supposed to defend ourselves against them?" Even with Victor on their side and a force of Oswald's henchmen, a war against them would be difficult ‒ especially if the GCPD got involved.

"I thought about setting traps, but you know her better, Oswald. So how would you deal with her?"

While thinking, Oswald leaned back in his chair and eventually smiled when an idea crossed his mind. "With her own weapon."

Ed raised an eyebrow. Oswald had told him enough that he immediately knew what he was talking about. "You want to manipulate her? You'd have to gain her trust first."

"That is where you're wrong, my friend. It will be enough to convince her that I have no reason to betray her. She just has to believe that we follow the same goal."

Edward smiled. "You mean like Bullock before we took Professor Strange."

"Exactly. We will offer her a partnership: dividing Gotham between us ‒ fifty-fifty."

"While we work behind the scenes to take out her monsters."

Oswald had a devilish smile."Or bring them on our side."

"And how will you do _that_? They don't seem particularly fond of you right now."

"We already know what they want. Now all we have to do is make them believe that they can achieve their goals faster with us than with Fish and _voilà_ : we got ourselves an army of monsters." Oswald pursed his lips. "Though it may not hurt if their hatred for me turns to respect. Because there's one thing I'll have to admit, Fish is good at making herself popular with her henchmen."

Edward turned his head slightly to the side, wondering. "You sound like you envy her."

" _Oh, please_ , Ed. Who needs love when you can have respect and fear?" Oswald replied with a sublime twinkle in his eye.

Pleased with that answer, Edward smiled, then placed his whiskey glass on the small side table and stood up from his seat. In a pleading gesture, he reached out a hand to Oswald, who grabbed it with a frown, and let his boyfriend help him out of the armchair.

"More respect and fear ‒ _check_ ," Edward whispered as he ran a hand over Oswald's cheek, bending down to him very slowly, like a man sneaking up on a wild animal.

Oswald, in turn, emitted a soft laugh. "Not from you, Ed," he said, while playfully rolling his eyes.

Ed grinned. "So I am allowed to be disrespectful? How very generous of you, Mr. Penguin."

"You're welcome."

This time Oswald did not recoil when Edward bridged the distance between them, so their lips met for a gentle touch. Instead, he had closed his eyes, sighed contentedly into the kiss, and placed his hands around the neck of the taller man, thus increasing their closeness without necessarily intensifying the touch of their lips.

And at first it seemed as if Edward tolerated this invisible barrier between them, all the taboo zones that began under the collarbone, the prohibition to open his mouth and lock the other man's narrow, almost white bottom lip between his own, the prohibition to fully bare his neck, which was always wrapped in fine clothing so he could run his tongue over the trembling skin.

 _"Uh-huh, he definitely doesn't trust you enough,"_ Ed suddenly heard close to his ear, thereupon he desperately pressed his eyelids together and clasped his hands around Oswald's back.

_"Will this go on forever? How old are you_ _‒_ _twelve? Stop being a coward and finally take what you want, Ed! He'll thank you for it!"_

He tried to block out the voice, concentrating on the tender kiss and the pleasant warmth emanating from Oswald's body, but it was as if his alter ego were sitting right behind his frontal lobe. His head boomed and ached with every single word.

_"If you don't have the guts, I can take over."_

His eyebrows wince as the pain in his skull grew stronger. He let go of Oswald for a moment, gritting his jaws together, raising his hands to his chest as if in desperate resignation.

"Ed?" With his eyelids lowered in perplexity, Oswald stepped closer to his friend, who seemed to be in pain, but also somehow panicky. "Ed," he repeated once more, grabbing Edward's collar and panting in shock as the taller man suddenly grabbed his wrists.

"Ed?" As he looked down into his eyes, Oswald swallowed insecurely. Edward's gaze was hard and cold and yet somehow... sad. The suddenness with which Edward's features had changed made Oswald think. Was this perhaps 'the other Edward'? And since his boyfriend didn't move, didn't react to Oswald's words, he took the opportunity to find out who exactly was standing there in front of him. He gasped shakily for breath, then leaned forward and breathed in an almost sniveling voice, " _Riddler_."

As if he had been waiting for it, a broad grin now carved itself into Edward's face and the hands that had previously gripped Oswald's wrists now clasped around his face with demanding pressure, his thumb stroking Oswald's cheek and while the latter was gasping for air, his eyelids wide open, his blue-green eyes covered in a wet shine, Edward bent down to him and pulled him into an intense kiss.

Oswald could only moan desperately, pressing his hands against Ed's chest to keep him at a distance, at least in this respect. A storm of emotions raged inside him, panic prevailed. His instinct told him that he had to push the other man away and flee the room, while his head told him to at least try to allow more physical contact. His stomach was queasy and a stabbing pain spread from his right leg without any reason, giving him the excuse his head needed to finally break away from Edward with a decisive push, sinking down onto the chair with heavy breathing. He grabbed his ankle, but the pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Had it been only in his head?

"Do you even truly love me?"

" **What!?** " Had Oswald misheard? Edward couldn't be serious now, could he? Or... or was this still the Riddler? Oswald couldn't be sure. Were Edward and the Riddler even two _completely different_ people?

Apparently Ed was very serious, because his facial expression radiated anger and genuine hurt, his normally full lips drawn to a narrow line, his thick eyebrows lowered. "Let's face it, we've been living together practically unchanged. It's almost as if we had no relationship at all."

Oswald hissed in indignation, and puffed up his chest. His voice had risen to a shrill squeak. " _That's not true!_ We, we...", he hesitated, his gaze circled thoughtfully through the room, "kiss ‒ now and then."

"With closed lips!" protested Edward, raising his voice in severity. "I want... _so much more_. Don't you, too?"

"I..." Oswald squinted to the side.

Edward took a deep breath, then also turned his gaze away and lifted a finger to the temple of his glasses ‒ a sight Oswald no longer associated with 'the Riddler'. But when had they swapped again?

"Kissing may be one of the many tactics we humans use to choose a suitable partner, as information is exchanged through the senses of smell, taste and touch used in kissing," Ed explained before clearing his throat uneasily. "Obviously you do not consider me a suitable partner."

"That's not true. I-"

But Edward was too hurt to let him finish. He had closed his eyelids, held his flat palm towards Oswald. At this moment he had to spend a great deal of energy trying not to burst into tears. "It's fine, Oswald."

"Ed, _please_..." Edward may have had enough self-control, but Oswald's face was already covered in tears. He approached the taller man, who at first swerved backwards, but finally stopped and allowed Oswald to reach for his hands. "I love you."

Edward hesitated, but then bit his lower lip from the inside and gave Oswald a warm look. "I love you too..."

He released himself from Oswald's grip to run his fingers through his hair once with a hiss. "I didn't mean to react like that." A faint shake of the head underscored his statement. "I shouldn't have said all that. I don't know what got into me."

"For a moment I... had the feeling that you were someone else," Oswald admitted hesitantly. "That I had seen _the other you."_

Edward lifted his lids in amazement. Oswald had actually been able to recognize his alter ego in him? He could not help but be frightened by the thought. How strong must his darker side have become that it could be seen on the outside? "He wants me to demand more."

"Like what exactly?" Oswald was afraid to ask the question, but he wanted to at least give Edward the opportunity to address his desire.

The latter, in turn, did not seem to have expected the question, for he flinched before nervously crossing his fingers in front of his chest, his thumbs dancing around one another. "I would like to sleep in the same bed with you."

Speechless, Oswald tore open his lips, gurgled several times like a fish out of water while his cheeks filled with blood, and only managed to gag out a scratchy sentence after half a minute. "I can't do that..."

"Why not? I-- I promise I won't try anything. I just want to be close to you during the night."

"I think at the moment it's still too much for me."

" **What isn't?!** "

Sulky, Oswald slammed his jaws shut, causing Edward to apologetically close his eyelids.

"I didn't mean to raise my voice." What the hell was going on with him?! He had absolutely no control over himself. That was probably how people affected by the Tetch virus felt: his darker side seemed to be held back by only a thin thread from taking over completely.

Oswald nervously clenched his hands into fists, squinted down at the tips of his shoes. Edward's anger over his restraint was preying on his mind. "Perhaps we could try to..." He approached Edward, put his arms around him, whereupon the taller man also leaned into the embrace, holding Oswald tight.

And after they had stayed like that for a moment, Edward suddenly felt fingertips moving hesitantly across his back; the gentle touch tickled, but Ed tried to hold back his laughter so as not to scare the other off.

"Ed...," sighed Oswald, and his voice sounded longing, at least to Edward's ears, causing him to follow his friend's lead and stroke his right hand across Oswald's back, pressing his face against Oswald's neck and kissing that tiny bit of naked skin right above his collar.

Oswald's breath was shaky, his body trembled overwhelmed and he squeezed himself closer to his friend, now pressing his nose into Edward's neck to absorb the warm scent, which consisted of a pleasant mixture of sandalwood, orange and cinnamon. 

Ed knew he couldn't go any further, knew he had to let Oswald take the lead; all the more unpleasant was the tingling between his thighs, the throbbing that triggered in him the reflex to move closer against the other ‒ to deepen the embrace, to harden the grip around the narrow back. He couldn't be the only one feeling this way, could he?!

"Hi, boss, hate to interrupt, but my girls say the bomb detonated," it suddenly came from the door frame where Victor was standing, one hand wrapped around the lapel of his jacket, in the other a glass with a milky liquid and a straw. He gave the two closely entwined men a completely unmoved look. " _Ah_ , by the way, I helped myself to the fridge. Milk, bananas and sugar ‒ simple milkshake. Want a glass?" He took the straw between his lips and slurped loudly.

With a startled squeak, Oswald broke away from his boyfriend. " _Victor! Knocking!_ Haven't we discussed this earlier?! And just because you and your henchwomen are temporary guests in my house doesn't mean you live here."

"I suppose that means you don't want a milkshake ‒ _your loss_ ," replied the hit-man with a smile, clicking his tongue in a cocky manner.

Clearing his throat, Edward straightened his clothes. He was lucky that Victor's appearance had mostly killed his erection. Still his voice was hoarse with nervousness. "And you double checked your contact's message?"

"My girls don't lie," Victor replied, sounding downright menacing. He trusted these women with his life. But his mood quickly changed again and a broad grin carved into his features. "Besides, you can hear the cries of these poor guys all the way up here." While talking he had pulled a black hand radio out of his jacket and when he turned it on, a shocked woman's voice shouted that a bomb had gone off in the train station and everyone around the detonation had suddenly gone mad; in the background screams, whirring and the general honking, squeaking and thunder of a mass panic.

As soon as they had heard the news, Edward and Oswald had also joined in the assassin's gloating grin.

Pondering, Oswald turned away from the door. "Now we just have to wait for Gabe to show up with the antidote. Let's hope he's not been held up. Perhaps I should have sent someone of higher intellect to do the job."

" _Relax, boss_. Everything's working out fine. Besides, two of my girls are with him." Victor tilted his head confidently. "It'll be a piece of cake."

"I'll give him a call anyway."

He dialed the number of his broad-shouldered subordinate and waited.

"Yeah ‒ who's this?" Gabe answered in a crude, dumb voice.

" _A little girl selling thin mints and peanut butter sandwiches_ ‒ **who do you think it is, you moron!?** ", Oswald yelled into the phone, before hissing and rolling his eyes in bewilderment at so much stupidity.

"Ah, boss."

"Where are you? Did you find Strange's hideout?" Oswald began pacing the room.

"Yup, it was all there."

" _And?_ "

"Huh?"

"Well, are you on your way back!? We need the antidote ‒ _now_!" Oswald's voice had grown shrill.

When Gabe spoke again, you could hear something like malicious joy in his voice. "Actually, I decided to sell the antidote myself."

" **You what?!** If this is some lousy attempt at a joke, you picked a bad time for it."

"It's no joke," Gabe grunted.

"Come on, Gabe, you're loyal."

Gabe clicked his tongue in denial. "I was only loyal out of fear, like everyone else."

Oswald smirked. "Honestly, I can live with that. But... what I don't understand is how you even came up with the idea. You don't have what it takes to double-cross me."

"That's been your problem from the start ‒ you've always underestimated me."

The sentence made Oswald laugh, before he smugly tilted his head, raised his brows in faked empathy as if his henchman was actually standing before him. " _Oh, boo-hoo._ Perhaps you should reconsider the situation, _Gabriel_. Do you really think I won't just take the antidote from you? What can a single disloyal goon like you do, whose body needs all blood to supply the muscles so that **not a single drop remains for the brain?!** "

"I'm not working alone."

"How many of you can there be?" Oswald asked in an amused tone. His subordinates were loyal to him ‒ he was sure of that ‒ so Gabe could hardly speak of more than a handful of people.

"If I have to estimate, we are about thirty guys," Gabe replied with a haughty grunt. It might be a bad idea to tell your opponent how many men you have, but this wasn't a matter of strategy, it was about unsettling Oswald and getting revenge for all the years Gabe had worked for the Penguin.

" _T-thirty!?_ In what times must I live where subjects lose _their respect_ for their king for no reason?" No one would have betrayed Falcone or Maroni just like this.

"Respect? No one ever respected you. We always saw you for what you really are: a tiny freak who used to hold an umbrella ‒ nothing more."

" _F... freak..._ " Oswald croaked into the phone; he had stopped moving, his shoulders trembling under the impact of the looming wrath. "You'll pay for this," he spat, then ended the call and squeezed the mobile phone in his hand while gritting his teeth furiously.

"Guess you want me to take care of this?" Victor interjected questioningly. He was not one for long mourning, but the fact that this gorilla was probably to blame for the death of two of his henchwomen increased his lust for blood.

"Don't kill Gabe. I want him alive. Everyone else dies," Oswald growled. He just couldn't believe what his longtime subordinate had said to him just now. It had hurt, more than a bullet, and he longed to teach Gabe a lesson in respect.

"Don't let this get to you," Edward said calmly after Victor had left.

"I know... _sticks and stones_ and all that. But to be honest, I've always found words more painful than 'sticks and stones'.'' He smiled sadly.

"You're too sentimental, Oswald. You shouldn't care for the opinion of a troglodyte," Edward said, although he could understand Oswald very well. Words like _odd, pervert, psycho_ had always hurt him far more than any physical violence. But unlike Oswald, Edward _believed_ he had gotten over it by now and had gained enough self-confidence to disregard the opinion of vermin.

"Perhaps you are right," Oswald replied faintly. Actually, he had hoped for a little more understanding from his boyfriend.

\---

The good news was that with a small group, Victor had been able to take out all thirty renegades and capture Gabe. The bad news was that during the shootout and Gabe's attempted escape, the antidote, which had been in highly concentrated form in several test tubes, had been smashed.

On hearing the news, Oswald had hurled his whiskey glass against the wall with a single loud roar. Their plan had worked perfectly and only because of this caveman everything was in shambles now!

Edward had been angry too, but apart from a brief shifting of his features and a slight flick of his tongue, he didn't show his frustration and instead was already thinking about how they would proceed. 

And when Victor finally walked through the door with six of his Zsaszettes ‒ one of the ladies with fully tattooed arms and leather costume dragged the bound and gagged Gabe with her ‒ Oswald jumped up from his armchair, snarling and gnashing his teeth, while clenching his furiously trembling hands into fists.

"Put him there," he demanded in a hissing voice, pointing to a dining room chair that Edward had carried into the room at the same time. His gestures were accompanied by both rage and excited jitteriness.

After the assassin had pressed Gabe onto the seat and taken the gag off him, Oswald rushed forward and simply slapped him with the back of his hand. If Edward had known her better, Oswald's behavior would have reminded him of Fish Mooney, she too loved to punish disloyal behavior like that.

Oswald panted as if he had been the one who had been slapped, while Gabe had turned his face away. But that didn't last long, for at a glance from Oswald, Victor got behind the bound man, grabbed his cheeks and turned his head towards the crime boss, who was just pulling out a jackknife, smirking.

"Under the Roman Emperor Tiberius, the punishment for treason was beheading ‒ but unfortunately I lack the appropriate tools for that. We'll have to make do with other punishments. Any requests?" Oswald moved the blade in the light of the crackling fire.

Gabe remained calm, looking up at Oswald from below with a hard look, but also a spark of fear.

"But first there is something I want to know: why did you betray me? After all we've been through." His look was disappointed like a father's, his lips pursed like a son's.

"That's exactly why. I was always by your side, including when your mother died, and how do you repay me? By treating me worse than a dog."

Oswald arched his brows. "Well, that's actually a valid point." He glanced at those present as if asking for their opinion, but no one agreed. "Tell me, Gabe, considering I understand your reasons, and now that you've hopefully learned your lesson, can we put this whole thing behind us and you'll return loyally to my side?"

As Gabe started nodding and a grin formed on his lips, Victor loosened his hard grip on his face and took a few steps back to his henchwomen. He didn't understand how Oswald could be so forgiving, but since he wasn't paid to question his boss, he kept quiet. 

"Of course, Boss! I'll--"

A gunshot went off from somewhere in the room and Gabe sank against the back of the chair with a black spot between his eyes. With a startled squeak, Oswald spun around, opening his lips in stunned shock when he saw the revolver in Edward's hand.

" **What was that for?!** He wanted to submit himself to me again," cried Oswald wildly gesticulating.

"Oswald, you are my partner and I would do anything for you. In light of this, I think we have to agree that you can dispense with henchmen who are so fickle in their loyalty," Edward said in a husky voice. "We would do better to consider how to get a new antidote."

Oswald remained a little longer with his lips open, but finally swallowed his indignation and shifted into a less slumped position, adjusted his tailcoat. "What was on your mind?" he asked with raised brows.

"Back to square one."

"You mean setting up a laboratory?" He sighed. Setting up a state-of-the-art lab in front of the GCPD may prove difficult. 

"I'll make all the arrangements in the morning. You look tired, Oswald. You should get some sleep."

\---

After Oswald had actually went to his room, Edward had made all the arrangements for the night-time protection of the Van Dahl mansion, ordered Victor and the Zsaszettes to post guards for the night, and then went to bed too.

But he couldn't sleep, just stared thoughtlessly at the ceiling, gray with moonlight. Since the moment Oswald had addressed him in the parlor with 'Riddler', he had been feeling a strange sensation. It was as if his alter ego was right under his skin, bubbling through him like hot lava.

Moaning, he pressed his head into the pillow. Why couldn't he control his second personality anymore? It was almost like the time when his alter ego had forced himself to the surface without his knowledge and hid the body of Miss Kringle. He had thought he had grown stronger since then, he had felt stronger, but obviously it had all been just a delusion. Would he never get rid of his alter ego _completely_?

In his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed how he had risen from the mattress, only realized it when he put his glasses on the bridge of his nose and the world became focused before his eyes. Like a puppet on rusty iron wire, he trudged out of his room, a clear goal in sight. He held his breath as he pushed down the door handle, peeked inside and listened whether his friend was already asleep. When he heard the soft, steady breaths, he slipped through the crack into the inside of the bedroom and stopped right next to the door, his eyes turned to the bed where Oswald lay, in the middle of the bed that seemed far too big for his small body, his hands on the comforter, his face turned towards him.

Subconsciously moistening his lips, he sneaked towards the bed and let himself sink carefully onto the edge. And then? Then he just sat there, looking down, lost in thought, at his friend's face. He no longer knew what he had come here for ‒ or had never known.

When, for once, his alter ego didn't appear with an idea next to his ear in response to that thought, he sighed with relief.

He was just struggling against the urge to run his thumb across Oswald's cheek when he suddenly heard light, clumsy footsteps outside in the corridor. One thing was for sure: neither Victor nor the Zsaszettes had such small feet, so it had to be someone else.

Panicky because he was in danger of being discovered doing something that others would probably rightly call creepy and indecent, Ed jumped up from the mattress, then hectically looked around the room for a suitable hiding spot and finally dashed into the bathroom, which was directly adjacent to the bedroom, where he left the door ajar to see who ‒ apart from him ‒ was sneaking into Oswald's room at night.

The door opened for a narrow beam of light and finally a small shadow entered the room. Edward pulled his brows together. He had completely forgotten that the orphan boy was still in the mansion. Why was he still awake? And if he had been awake the whole time, why hadn't he come down when he heard the gunshot? Or maybe he had and no one had noticed him?

With a distrustful look he watched the orphan's way to Oswald's bed, where Martin finally pulled out a folded paper and put it on the bedside table. Right afterwards the boy scurried out of the room again, carefully closing the door behind him.

 _"What is this little brat up to? He's plotting something,"_ he heard himself say but had the strange feeling that someone else had spoken. Gazing intensely at the folded sheet of paper, he sneaked out of the bathroom and could not prevent a soft growl from escaping when he unfolded the paper and saw what Martin had left there for Oswald. _"That manipulative little devil."_

It was a self-made painting, to be seen: Martin holding Oswald's hand and, to Edward's surprise, him on the other side of the orphan. It was the image of a family, everyone smiling ‒ in short: Oswald would definitely sigh with joy.

Someone else would probably have been happy, especially since Edward was also depicted in the painting, but Edward Nygma caught the scent of a deliberate manipulation. This boy desperately wanted to be adopted by Oswald and he knew exactly which buttons to push on the sentimental man.

With a snort Ed folded the picture together again and put it back on the bedside table before he took a last look at the sleeping Oswald and finally left the room.

\---

When Edward entered the kitchen the next morning and saw Oswald and Martin having breakfast, he had already been on his feet for several hours. As he had promised Oswald, he had taken care of setting up a laboratory early in the morning. Oswald's henchmen were just carrying some large equipment into the cabinet room, which had been cleared of all other furniture for this purpose, while Victor and the Zsaszettes covered their backs and kept a lookout for the GCPD.

Edward had also used this opportunity to find out about the current situation in the city. From where the Van Dahl mansion was located, no one could tell, but Gotham was in chaos. As far as Edward had heard, even Jim Gordon had been infected as a result of the detonation, which ‒ to Ed and Oswald's luck ‒ had fundamentally limited Captain Harvey's ability to act.

"Your henchmen are bringing in the last of the equipment."

Oswald smiled happily. "Then the good professor can begin his work right away."

"Have you asked him what he needs to mix the antidote yet?" Edward asked as he sat down at the table next to his boyfriend. Depending on what Strange needed, Edward might have to go out again.

"I wanted to do that right after breakfast."

A few minutes after Edward had sat down at the table, Olga entered the dining room with a full plate in her hand, which she placed in front of him along with cutlery. And even though Ed had already eaten something this morning, he took the fork and began to pick scrambled eggs from his plate.

"By the way, I noticed that somebody didn't spend the whole night in his room," Oswald said after a few minutes of eating in silence and almost immediately Edward froze, choking on his scrambled eggs.

He coughed, then took a sip of the coffee Olga had poured him. "Uhm, what are you talking about, Oswald?" Of course, in the first shock, Edward had thought that Oswald was talking about him. 

But with a happy smile, Oswald turned to Martin. "I was very pleased with your gift." Especially the fact that Edward had been in the picture had made his heart flutter. Perhaps he should adopt Martin after all? Perhaps they could actually be a family?

Martin returned his smile hopefully, while Edward gave a silent snort. If Oswald did indeed adopt this boy, Edward would probably have to compete with him for Oswald's attention ‒ an image that he did not want to see come true under any circumstances.

Breakfast was interrupted abruptly when a scornful female voice was heard. "Hello, _Oswald_."

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor, the master of cockblocking. :D


	18. For the King of Gotham, Arkham is in the end nothing more than an animal shelter for loonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for a true partnership between two royals of the criminal underworld and the plan to take over Gotham takes shape.

Chapter 18

**For the King of Gotham, Arkham is in the end nothing more than an animal shelter for loonies**

Oswald jumped up from his chair, causing the dishes on the tabletop to clatter. "Fish!"

In a dark red corset dress, which in the figure-hugging style of a pencil skirt reached just above her knees and which was decorated with golden clasps that were shaped like fish-bones, Fish Mooney stood at the entrance to the dining room, had one of her hands with the long pointed acrylic nails against the door frame.

"There is no need for a curtsy, Oswald, I just stopped by to check on your progress in finding Strange," Fish explained with a haughty smile before strutting into the room on her rounded red pumps. "Since your departure from our last meeting was so sudden."

" _Always dramatic._ Would a phone call not have sufficed?" Oswald was visibly unsettled by the appearance of Fish. While he had in fact intended to contact his former boss to propose joint rule of Gotham as agreed to with Edward, he had hoped to have the antidote by the time of their next meeting. Victor had probably let them into the mansion because Oswald had told him of their plan and asked him not to be overly hostile to Fish.

But Fish ignored him, had noticed Martin at the kitchen table at that very moment, to whom she gave a confused look, then pointed in his direction with her long artificial nail as if he was an expensive piece of jewelry. "Well, _that's_ new." A sublime smile played in the corner of her mouth. "But family has always been your weakness, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised." She glanced briefly in Oswald's direction as if to rejoice in his reaction to her teasing, before kneeling down in front of Martin. "Hello, darling, I'm Mooney and you are?"

In the background, Oswald clenched his hands into fists. But while he perceived Fish's behavior as a threat, Martin seemed happy to be greeted. With an honest smile he wrote his name on a piece of paper and held it out to the woman.

"Martin," Fish read aloud, and this was finally the moment Oswald intervened. Hurriedly and therefore a little bumpy he hobbled between Fish and Martin.

"Martin is none of your business."

When Fish suddenly rose again and pointed her index finger like a gun at Oswald, the underworld boss flinched at first, squeaking and gasping for air. Edward, too, had risen from his seat, his gaze piercingly fixed on Mooney, one hand had stopped on the way to the jackknife, which was hidden in the pocket of his red and green checkered Italian wool suit.

"I have brought you something. A gift, if you like."

Upon her words you could hear heavy footsteps approaching and a few seconds later Mr. Freeze and Firefly trudged through the door frame and with them three mobsters who happened to be the heads of those families who had not yet bowed to Oswald. Thrown to the ground by Freeze and Firefly, they now crawled before the short underworld king, who was still dressed in his pajamas and a robe and whose hair was all tousled from sleep. 

"We, we wanna work for you, Mr. Penguin," stammered one man who had obviously had his nose broken.

"Yes, we'll accept all your terms," said a second, whose thumbnails were both missing.

"We and our men will always support you and your plans, Mr. Penguin," added the last one, who looked a little as if he hadn't seen daylight for a whole week.

Fish smiled broadly and stretched out her arms in an emphatic manner. "I believe my part of the bargain is complete now."

In the first moment Oswald had raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't counted on Fish fulfilling their agreement so quickly. He had rather expected her to play for time and try to snatch the professor back from Oswald and Edward's grasp. But then he smiled contentedly down at the three men crouching on the ground.

" _Victor!_ " he shouted, causing Mr. Freeze to turn his head in a somewhat irritated manner. Why was Penguin shouting like that when he was only five steps away from him? And what did the tiny underworld boss want from him anyway?

"Huh?"

Now it was Oswald who was irritated. He made an annoyed grimace. "Not you! The other Victor. _My_ Victor," he hissed, pointing towards the entrance to the dining room where Victor Zsasz had appeared.

"What's up, boss?" the Hitman asked and then let his gaze wander curiously over the three mobsters.

"Would you please give these fine gentlemen a welcoming gift?"

Victor wrinkled his nose. "Are we talking about a real gift or the 'cut off a finger from each of them' kinda gift?"

Oswald had a devilish grin. "Use the cleaver."

In the background Olga was covering little Martin's ears with an indignant snort – she had mistaken the boy's excitement and curiosity for fear.

Returning his boss's grin, Victor walked into the kitchen and seconds later actually came back with the kitchen cleaver, turning it menacingly in the light of the morning sun, while his amused, bloodthirsty glance swayed back and forth between the three men.

In panic, the mobsters turned to Oswald. "But we've already surrendered! This is really not necessary! Please, Mr. Penguin, we'll never turn on you again. Have mercy!"

At a gesture from the crime lord, the men fell silent. Penguin's sneering grin was frightening. He pursed his lips and then nodded quickly several times, as if he were debating with himself. "I am merciful," he then said, leaning slightly down to the mobsters, who sobbed in relief at his words. They closed their eyes a little perplexed as Oswald now leaned over to them one by one and pressed a light kiss on each man's forehead. Was it a sign of his mercy? Or was it not rather a sign of his absolute power over their fate? For these very men, however, it would ultimately turn out to be a Judas kiss, for at a nod from Oswald, Victor stepped forward with two of his zsaszettes and dragged the screaming men out of the room by their collars.

Oswald watched their leaving with a swelling feeling of absolute control that made his grinning lips tremble. "I am merciful," he repeated once more with his head tilted to one side, "but you shall have something to remind you never to turn on me again."

" _Well_ ", Fish began in a disparaging singsong and with her arms outstretched, "now that I have fulfilled my part of the agreement, wouldn't it be time for you to fulfill yours, _my little penguin_?"

With a smile, Oswald straightened his robe. "Actually, there is indeed something I would like to discuss with you...", while talking, he squinted down on himself, "right after I put some clothes on. If you'll just wait here."

But before he left the room to go to the first floor, he asked Edward to keep an eye on Fish and most importantly to watch Martin.

"We could also just take Martin back to the orphanage as long as the GCPD is not on our heels yet. Because Fish is right about one thing: he's a weak point for you," Edward argued in a lowered voice; he and Oswald were standing a bit apart from the others.

Oswald raised the wings of his nose in indignation. "While the city is sinking into chaos because of the virus? Absolutely not! He's safest here."

"Very well. But you should consider whether you really care about the child's well-being, or whether you just want to keep him with you for selfish reasons. We don't live a life fit for a child, Oswald, and we never will." What Edward, of course, deliberately left out was that he, too, was acting out of pure selfishness. Martin reduced his possibilities to be alone with Oswald, so it was to his advantage if the child went away.

He didn't even give Oswald the opportunity to answer. Instead, after speaking, he immediately distanced himself from him and joined the sitting Martin at the table. With an offended yet thoughtful grimace, Oswald finally left the dining room for the first floor.

Fish released an amused sound and then sat down at the table on Martin's right side, crossed both legs and stared at the quiet boy with an interested look. The latter in turn seemed to be more interested in Mr. Freeze, eyed the cryo-weapon in his hands.

When Fries noticed that the boy was looking at him, he raised an eyebrow questioningly, whereupon Martin scribbled a pistol on his notepad and placed a question mark next to it. 

"Huh. You're interested in the freeze gun?" He lifted the gun a little, which made it easier for Martin to look at its parts. Edward thereupon lowered his eyebrows, but allowed Fries to explain to the boy how the cryogenic weapon worked – maybe this was partly because he was interested in the former scientist's explanations himself.

But not all of Strange's monsters had a soft spot for children, because when Martin, after the little introduction to cryogenics by Fries, turned his gaze in Firefly's direction, she wrinkled her nose and gave a snotty " _What?!_ ". When she let her flamethrower hiss, Edward rose from his seat and stretched out an arm to protect Martin. Oswald would never forgive him if anything happened to the child.

Firefly grinned sinister. "I just wanted to give him a chance to see for himself what my flamethrower is capable of."

Everyone turned around in irritation when Fish emitted a soft laugh. "I would be wary of doing that. Can't you see who you have before you? Oswald's _very own creation_ , or...", she gave Martin an analytical look, "someone who is yet to become that."

"Creation," repeated Firefly irritated and then growled. The term inevitably made her think of Hugo Strange and what he had made of her. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the needles with the life-sustaining fluid piercing into her as her suit fused more and more with her charred flesh.

Instead of an explanation, Fish let one of her long slender fingers run across Martin's cheek. The boy swallowed insecurely, but did not back off. "Who could blame him? The feeling of having created something by yourself can't be compared to anything," she purred and then gave a warm smile.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Edward remarked, putting a hand around Martin's shoulder in order to show Fish a boundary without the use of words.

Her big eyes with the faint glittery white eye shadow and dark eyeliner turned up to him, Fish smirked, emitting a haughty snort. "I, too, once created someone, shaped him and toughened his character as if he were my own son." Her gaze was filled with a piercing mischievousness. "I'm sure you can guess who I'm talking about. And who knows," she tilted her head to one side – different from the way Oswald always did, more composed, more haughty, "perhaps _you_ were his very first creation, _Riddler_."

Edward lowered his brows. Apparently Fish had learned more about him during the past day. He didn't know what to make of her statement that he was just a creation of Oswald. His inner pride urged him to protest, but his devotion brought back memories of the day he had asked Oswald to become his criminal mentor. But even though he had taken Oswald as his role model, in the end he had managed by his own strength to turn Edward Nygma into the Riddler – well, with the strength of the jealousy he had harbored towards Shivan and thus indirectly with the strength of the love he felt towards Oswald. Maybe he should not think about it too much? After all, in the end, there was nothing on this earthly world that had been created out of sheer emptiness; everything had an origin and an example – even these self-sustaining power generators that Xander Wilde was currently researching did not create energy out of nowhere. And so it was no disgrace that Edward's criminal existence had been driven by someone else.

Fish crossed her legs and lifted an elbow on the tabletop, holding her long fingers stretched inwards in an elegant forward bend of her wrist, with her ring and little fingers raised a little above the rest. "But now that you're standing on your own two feet, he has turned to a new project: _conscious_ shaping." She squinted at Martin. "I wonder what he will make of you." In fact, Fish had pursued similar goals since she had taken in young Ivy; her mind was still that of a child and therefore particularly malleable while her body was already in full bloom.

While Fish and Edward had been talking, the housemaid Olga had already cleared the dining table and was now pushing a serving cart with several glasses and a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Scottish single malt whiskey, which Oswald (partly because of its four-figure price) only allowed to be opened for special negotiations. The only one who didn't get a whiskey glass was Martin; for him Olga had fetched a bottle of grape juice from the pantry, poured it into a tall, bulbous wine glass, which the orphan boy clasped with both hands and a proud grin.

"I can see you've already made yourselves comfortable," it suddenly came from the door frame where Oswald now stood, a broad, dimpled smile on his face.

He wore a black cutaway suit with pointed lapels over a white shirt and a purple paisley waistcoat, pocket square and tie in the same pattern, tie pin and cuff-links made of brass. In addition, he wore black Budapest shoes with full-brogue decorations, which originated from a Spanish manufacturer, were made of high-quality shell cordovan and had a triple sole with brass toes. Actually, a cutaway, which is also known as _morning coat_ by the British, traditionally came with a top hat, but with this item Oswald would have ruined his hairstyle, and furthermore, they were inside the estate, which would make wearing a hat look rather ridiculous.

Edward smiled in delight as he watched Oswald walk into the room with more gracefulness than one would expect from a limping man. He had to admit that the jacket of the cutaway did even more justice to his boyfriend's nickname than the tails he usually wore. Like the gentleman he wished to be, Edward had risen from his seat when his boyfriend entered and had stepped to the head of the long table, where he now pushed back the chair for Oswald. The latter responded with a bashful smile and let Edward help him sit down at the table, then watched with an amorous glance as Ed also took his seat, directly to Oswald's right. When Martin jumped from his seat to sit down next to Edward, Oswald became thoughtful.

"You've done well for yourself, my little penguin," Fish purred with a hint of condescension as she read the label on the whiskey bottle. "Do you remember the time you used to fill gift baskets for Don Falcone and his business associates with bottles like these?" In speaking, she had poured two glasses, one of which she pushed over to Oswald and then put the bottle back on the table – all the others had to pour themselves. It was a rather unusual sign of respect, especially in light of the fact that her words were giving the opposite impression.

Instead of an answer, he only gave a superior smirk. Oswald wouldn't let her provoke him; he knew full well that he had the upper hand at the moment and that Fish was just trying to weaken his self-confidence with these jibes – just as she had once tried to do while Oswald was still working for Don Maroni on Falcone's behalf. But from the fact that Fish resorted to this means, Oswald could already see something that filled his chest with the warm bubbling of successful reign: Fish _knew_ Oswald was superior to her. So he had basically already won the battle for power.

When Olga returned to the dining room to inquire one last time whether everyone was provided for, Oswald called the maid to him. "Olga, would you take Martin to another room, please?"

The boy reluctantly pushed his lower lip forward, but let the maid bring him into the next room nonetheless – taking his glass of grape juice with him.

" _Fish_ ," Oswald began with a whisper, batting his eyelashes several times in an almost coquettish manner.

" _Oswald_." She reached across the table for his hand, squeezed it and gave Oswald a warm smile.

For the brief eternity of five seconds, they exchanged glances as one would normally expect between close family members before Oswald took Fish's hand between his, ran both thumbs over her fingers, and finally raised his voice to speak. "I want to propose a partnership."

"A partnership?" Fish seemed interested, and fortunately she didn't seem suspicious, only a slight irritation was playing in her features.

"I assume you've heard about the bomb that went off in the city last night."

"Of course. I suspected that our mutual friend and the Court he works for had something to do with it. I understand that the bomb released a gas that affects people's behavior – _drives them wild_." Something flashed in her eyes – maybe it was fascination.

Oswald once struck his right hand on the armrest in an accentuating manner. "What if I told you I had a plan to take advantage of this chaos?"

Fish turned her head, a spark of suspicion played in her eyes. "Are you asking for my support? You know about my goal."

"And I can get you Hugo Strange. Frankly, it's not just support I'm asking for. "

" _Oh?_ " She raised her eyebrows.

"I want us to form a partnership – an equal partnership. If we follow the plan Edward and I have made, we can soon call a part of Gotham our own. So, what do you say?"

Fish smiled. "And you plan to share this part of the city with me?"

"To equal shares." He squeezed her hand harder. "I could use your help, _Fish_. And that of your _friends_."

"Hmmm..." Gently, very gently, she ran a finger across Oswald's cheek, had released her right hand from his grip. "Look at you. How far you've gotten." She smiled in all sincerity before she put her hand around Oswald's jaw, her thumb stroking the makeup and powder-covered, yet slightly freckled skin. "We will make Gotham bow."

"Together," Oswald reaffirmed, and moved very lightly into Fish's touch. Fish's weakness was that beneath all this hard, calculating, powerful attitude, she still hid a heart. And Oswald, who shared this weakness, knew how to use it to his advantage.

" _Together_."

"Perhaps now is the time to mention that Professor Strange is already in my house."

\---

They decided that Fish, Mr. Freeze, Firefly and Ivy Pepper would also take up residence at the Van Dahl mansion - at least until they had reached their common goal. In addition, Oswald promised Mr. Freeze for his support of the plan, the co-use of the laboratory they had originally set up for Strange only, and the procurement of all resources he needed for his research. He promised Firefly that she would be allowed to turn all their common enemies to ashes and he promised Ivy, after she had also arrived at the estate, with a small floral patterned wheeled suitcase, the opportunity to talk to Strange about possible modifications of her body.

But now that they had four more guests in the house, there was a problem: lack of space. Since Victor Zsasz and his assassin squad already occupied almost all the rooms, and Martin, Olga, Ed and Oswald also occupied one each, there were not enough rooms for all of them. Oswald, of course, didn't want one or even multiple of Fish's monsters to sleep in his living room since he wanted to avoid falling over flamethrowers, flowerpots and sleeping bodies on his way to the dining room in the morning.

"I know you said you were against this, but considering the situation, it would be a possibility that I clear my room and sleep with you for the next couple of days - if necessary on an armchair," Edward offered, and although he had lowered his voice, Fish and Ivy stood close enough to listen to every word and now raised their brows in bewilderment. Especially Fish seemed thoughtful. Edward and Oswald were a couple and still slept in separate rooms? This was not reprehensible, but she deduced from Edward's words that this had not been the decision of both men, but only Oswald's demand. Perhaps she had been right in her assessment of her former umbrella boy after all, when she assumed that on a romantic-erotic level he was more of a late bloomer. It amused her to see Oswald struggle with his feelings.

"That won't be necessary, Ed," Oswald replied immediately and a little too bumpy to make it sound casual. "I'll ask Victor to move his henchwomen into fewer rooms."

"Weren't you guys a couple? I even shared a bed with Cat once - and I mean _duh_ , we _definitely_ aren't a couple," Ivy said with a laugh as she used her hand to remove a very, very fine layer of dust that had formed overnight on one of the deep green leaves of the strelitzia, which stood in the corner of the room as a decoration.

"Of course we are," Oswald hissed in a squeaky voice.

"Your voice gets shrill when you're angry," Fries noted soberly.

Oswald wrinkled his nose in annoyance, gave Mr. Freeze a withering look. " _You can sleep in the freezer_."

Upon hearing the sentence, Fries merely raised his brows, unimpressed. What he didn't know yet was that this property, given its size, had a whole freezing chamber, in which he would in fact set himself up for the next few days as if in an actual room.

"I'll have enough rooms for everyone else by tonight."

\---

Long had Oswald delayed it, but finally it was time to reunite Professor Strange and Fish. She and Oswald waited in the prepared laboratory, while Edward took the doctor out of the closet and led him into the former cabinet room.

When the door opened and Hugo Strange looked into the pleased face of Fish Mooney, he froze in Edward's hands, unable to move another step.

"Hello, Professor."

Strange made a grimace. "Miss Mooney. You here? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We had an agreement, Professor," Fish admonished as she walked towards the man who, though physically taller, was looking up at her through the rim of his red round glasses. "You remember? You were to create an army for me."

Strange raised his bound hands. "Miss Mooney, I assure you that I never intended to run away from you, but the Court--"

At a mere gesture he had stopped speaking. "Tsk. Tsk. But that's not what I want to hear. I knew you'd answer your former employer's call." She had stopped a few inches in front of him, threateningly lowering the corners of her mouth. "But _now_ you will do as I tell you and create my army, _yes_?"

He lowered his head. Was there any point in protesting? "Of course..."

"But _first_ \--" Edward began and grinned broadly, clasping his hands around Strange's shoulders and bending over his back, so he could look him in the face, "you'll help us with something else."

"I have already told you where I hid the antidote. What more can you need?"

"Well... _unfortunately_ , that antidote was spilled on a warehouse floor. So we need more." He patted Strange on the back twice. "Surely you would be so good-?"

Strange closed his eyelids in bitterness. Couldn't any of these criminals handle high-grade substances? All the effort he had put into this antidote! But his work had not been in vain - it never was, no matter what the result was or what happened to it; after all, the path was also part of the goal; the process that set an experiment in motion was sometimes even more meaningful than the result itself.

If he thought about it properly, he actually had quite a lot of power right now, over Fish as well as Penguin and Nygma - he was the key to the plans of both groups. Too bad he didn't have the necessary assertiveness to use this power sufficiently.

Nevertheless, this thought filled him with pride, so he cleared his throat with a straightened back. "To produce more of the antidote, I need a very specific substance - a blood sample from a very specific man."

"And who is the lucky winner?"

Strange turned his head and raised both eyebrows before, after a brief pause which piqued Edward's curiosity, he replied, "Jervis Tetch."

With an unsatisfied tongue-flick, Ed turned to Oswald. "Tetch is currently held at Arkham Asylum."

"Then I think it's time to pay him a visit," Oswald replied with a smirk, which revived Edward's euphoria. "And to see how much power a kidnapped mayor still has in this city."

"Let me help you," Fish now interjected. "I'll lend you Firefly to give the warden a warm hello - psychiatrists awaken in her... _a certain joy_." Bridgit Pike was probably not the only one at the Van Dahl mansion, who wasn't particularly fond of psychiatrist.

\---

About an hour later Edward Nygma set off for Arkham Asylum, accompanied by Firefly. They had to hurry. A call from one of Oswald's spies had revealed that Harvey Bullock was planning a police deployment to the Van Dahl property to free Hugo Strange and the allegedly kidnapped mayor. Victor, the Zsaszettes and about twenty of Oswald's henchmen stayed on guard, but if Ed wanted to get Tetch into the property without being noticed, he had to get to the Van Dahl mansion _before_ the arrival of Harvey Bullock.

His revolver pressed into the back of a security guard, Edward and Firefly entered the office of the head of the institution, warden Reed. The man with the thin hair and sunken cheeks raised his brows more apathetically than confusedly as Ed and Firefly stepped through the door behind the security guard, Edward then knocked the guard out with the handle of his revolver and seated himself at the desk in front of Reed, grinning.

"Good morning, warden Reed."

Reed cleared his throat barely audibly and sat up in his desk chair. "And you are?"

"I am never quite what I appear to be. Straight-forward I seem, but it's only skin deep, for mystery most often lies beneath my simple speech. Sharpen your wits, open your eyes, look beyond my exteriors, read me backwards, forwards, upside down. Think critically and answer the question. What am I?"

The warden narrowed his brows. "A riddle?" he asked, not as an answer but as a statement.

Nevertheless, Edward grinned and his voice had a husky tone when he spoke. " _Correct_. I am _the Riddler_. You have probably heard of me."

Suddenly visibly calmer, Reed leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on the tabletop. "You are the man who held several police officers hostage a few days ago. I've read about you. Will you take me hostage as well?"

"What purpose would that serve?" Ed asked in a cocky and lecturing manner, before he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and laid it unfolded in front of the warden, who, after a short hesitation, grabbed it and read its contents. Oswald had given Ed a document signed by himself on which he ordered the release of Jervis Tetch.

"Why would the mayor order this? And why would he work with someone like you? Or is this taking place outside the mayor's business?" Reed grinned mischievously, apparently sensing a possibility of personal gain from the mayor's crooked dealings; according to Edward's information, Reed was known for corruption and abusive treatment of his entrusted patients.

With a superior grin, Edward pulled a second item from his jacket - a photograph. He pushed it over Reed's desk, who then tilted his chin to the side in bewilderment. For the photo Oswald had, more than reluctantly, had himself tied up and gagged on a chair and even allowed Edward to put a dummy bomb around his neck.

"Unfortunately, the mayor is a little tied up at the moment. He sends his regards and asks that you obey his orders."

For a moment the warden's gaze remained fixed on the photo, but when he raised his eyes back to Edward they were without pity. "It is a shame that the mayor is in this position, but I see no added value in following his request."

"So you wish to capitalize on this?"

Reed lifted a corner of his mouth, which gave his face a mocking and arrogant expression. "If that's what you like to call it. I would describe it more as a gesture of mutual friendship."

"In that case I might have a deal that'll interest you." Edward glanced over his shoulder, whereupon Firefly took one step closer to the desk. "May I ask, is your tie pin made of silver?"

Surprised, Reed peered down at himself, then once stroked the metal pin that held his gray pepita tie in place. "You have good eyes. It was a gift for my appointment as head of the asylum."

Edward smiled, casually resting both elbows on the desk, fingers intertwined. His eyes were sinister. "Did you know that the melting point of silver is a little over 1760°F?"

Reed's eyebrows twitched in irritation. What was the Riddler getting at?

Amused by the warden's obvious confusion, Edward pointed a finger at Firefly, who thereupon let her weapon roar. "A flamethrower of this class can reach temperatures between 1300 and 2200°F. What do you think is the substance in the human body with the highest melting point?" He had lowered his voice to a menacing whisper, underlining his words with lecturing gestures. "If you don't want to help us find out what melts first: your silver tie pin or your teeth, you should hand over Jervis Tetch in all bureaucratic correctness. And if anyone asks, it was the mayor's order, _okay-dokey_?" He tore the corners of his mouth into a big grin.

Reed didn't seem to know that the melting point of tooth enamel is a staggering 2950°F, well above the temperature a flamethrower could produce, or perhaps the prospect of being burned was scary enough for him because he suddenly swallowed anxiously.

\---

Getting Tetch and his release papers had been easy after the small threat, but putting up with the man with the newsprint top hat and rhyming speech was only possible with a gag. Halfway home, Edward had simply put the man dressed in black and white striped overalls in the trunk like a disobedient dog and stuffed an old shammy leather in his mouth. Nevertheless, they managed to return to the Van Dahl mansion with an unharmed Tetch before the GCPD had arrived, handed the hypnotist over to Hugo Strange like a slaughter animal, who had already been waiting for him with a particularly large syringe.

When he joined Oswald, he was a little irritated to find him chatting with Fish in the parlor with a glass of red wine in his hand. Martin was sitting five feet away from them on an upholstered stool, dangling his legs and curiously following the conversation. A sight, picture-perfect.

"Oswald, could I speak to you alone for a second?"

A first raising of his brows, then Oswald placed his wine glass on a side table with an apologizing expression and rose from his armchair. "Excuse me, please."

He hobbled out of the room to Edward, the corners of his mouth lifted to a warm smile. "You're back already. Did everything work out as we planned?"

"Like clockwork," Ed replied, exhilarated at first, before he lowered his eyelids somewhat harshly. "Tell me, Oswald, what did _you_ do while I was away to further _our_ plan?"

Oswald puffed up his cheeks in a huff. "I did my part, too. I called Tarquin, gave him the go for the Meyer and Hayes project and told him I wasn't coming in to work today." According to the morning paper, Tarquin was not yet aware of the mayor's alleged kidnapping and the power project was eventually to serve as another sympathy point to increase the compassion of (uninfected) townspeople for their mayor once his kidnapping had been publicly announced by Edward.

"And afterwards sat down in the parlor with Fish Mooney for a glass of wine?"

"Why is that bad?" Oswald asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"She is our enemy."

"But we do not want her to think that she is our enemy. We must make sure she doesn't suspect anything."

"You must rather make sure that you don't start to have honest feelings for her, _because_ _you see in her some strange substitute for your dead mother_." As soon as he had spoken that last part, he hated himself for it, shut his jaws loudly. Apparently, Strange's words yesterday had affected him more than he had imagined.

As feared, Oswald thereupon indignantly sucked in his breath, clenched his hands into fists and then turned away from Edward with a hiss, only to disappear again into the parlor. He had been so struck by Edward's sentence that he had not even been able to put his feelings into words.

From the round mirror to the right of the door a soft laughter was heard. _"Guess you blew it, dummy."_

So he was back again. With a growl, Edward threw his fist against the mirror, didn't make a sound as the shards scratched his flesh bloody.

Normally he would have rushed after Oswald right away and tried to calm things down again, but for now he wouldn't get the chance, because Victor and the zsaszettes came through the door at that moment, each with a weapon in their hands. This was to prove lucky for him, however, as Oswald had not noticed the clanging of the shattering mirror due to the sudden noise in the hallway.

"We have company," Victor informed them and hurried with his henchwomen up the stairs to the first floor to take up a good shooting position at the window front. Oswald's very own troop of henchmen, however, would defend the entrance to the mansion from below.

They took cover in the parlor when the voice of Captain Bullock was heard from a megaphone. " _Nygma_ , we know you're in there. Hand over the mad professor and our tiny mayor immediately, or you will feel the full force of the GCPD."

A shot was fired, sending the megaphone from Harvey's hands. The captain immediately took cover behind a police car, staring up at the open window on the first floor, from where Victor Zsasz now grinned down at him. "It's pretty cozy in here. But thanks, guys."

Harvey growled. "If that's how you want it. On my command: _fire_!"

In the parlor everyone pressed themselves even closer to the ground. Oswald protected Martin with one arm, who covered his ears when the thunder of numerous weapons sounded. You could hear glass breaking somewhere and fine dust was trickling down from the ceiling. If the shooting stopped, it was only for less than a minute. The ammunition on both sides seemed to be endless.

"We have to find a way to get Bullock to give up," Oswald said at one point, whereupon Fish grinned mischievously.

"I have an idea who can help us with that."

She disappeared from the parlor in a crouched position and a few minutes later the entrance door to the Van Dahl mansion opened and all the policemen stopped the fire in disquiet when they saw Mr. Freeze.

His glasses set on his ice-blue eyes, a presumptuous smile on his lips and then he activated his freeze gun and within minutes, and under the motionless stare of all the police, he had erected an ice wall about five meters high in front of the mansion.

Standing at a shattered window, Edward had watched the event, had torn open his eyelids with excitement. " _Fascinating!_ " How long would it take, given a constant outside temperature, for the ice created by Victor Fries' formula to melt by one gill? Maybe he should keep an eye on the weather and make some calculations?

He didn't even notice how Martin had also got up from the ground and was now looking out of the window with about the same fascination.

Behind the ice wall, Harvey was just throwing a tantrum. "Where did that guy come from all of a sudden?! Don't ya think that a little ice will stop us! We'll find a way!"

"Wait, please!" cried someone who'd just stormed out of a car.

At that voice, Oswald had now also risen from the ground and made his way to the window, listening. Even though he couldn't see him because of the ice wall, he was pretty sure that the man who had just appeared was Tarquin Stemmel.

"Aren't you the pipsqueak who works for Cobblepot?" Harvey asked, confirming Oswald's suspicion.

"What's going on here?"

"Well..." Harvey snorted, reluctant to give such information to a civilian. "Edward Nygma is holding the mayor and another man captive in this building."

" _What!?_ Why, that's terrible! Hold on. Let me make a phone call."

It became quiet for a moment, only a soft murmur could be heard, which revealed that Tarquin had probably moved a few meters away from the others to make the call.

When his words were heard again, a hectic panic accompanied them. "It's horrible! There's a third person in Nygma's clutches!"

" _What?_ Who are you talking about?"

"A boy, a grade schooler. I have called the orphanage, and the boy has not yet returned."

"An orphan!? What is Cobblepot doing with an orphan?!" Harvey didn't really expect an answer, just wanted to vent his frustration. What were they gonna do now? If they stormed the building and the kid got hurt, not only would the press fry him, but his own conscience might not recover from this. But then again, they needed Strange - or at least his antidote formula - to heal the city and save it from total annihilation. It was at moments like these that Harvey Bullock hated being the police captain, because decisions such as these had always been difficult for him.

\---

About an hour later, large sections of the police had actually left, with only two patrol cars remaining outside the estate. Perhaps Harvey wanted to regroup his forces and put their heads together to decide how the GCPD should deal with the changed situation. This gave Oswald and Edward enough time to pursue their plan.

For the next day, they had planned a first contact with the governor - in form of a video. By then, Strange would also have completed a first sample of the antidote. They recorded the message, for which Oswald had to play the kidnapped mayor again, assigned all new guests to the remaining rooms and then scattered throughout the house in the early evening hours.

Martin helped Olga prepare dinner, Ivy walked around the estate to get to know all the potted plants, Victor Fries was working on a list of resources he wanted to demand from Oswald, Bridgit had stretched out on the sofa of the lounge together with Victor Zsasz and some of his henchwomen, and zapped through the TV without paying much attention, Fish supervised the work of Professor Strange, Edward supervised Fish and Oswald had withdrawn into his bedroom for a while.

Absentmindedly he washed his hands and then straightened his clothes in front of the large bathroom mirror. He hadn't had a chance to be alone with Edward since their brief conversation at noon today and considering the fact that the whole estate was full of people, they would probably have to do without much privacy for a while.

Did Edward get so mad at Oswald's conversation with Fish just out of jealousy? Or did his friend really believe that Oswald saw more in Fish than he admitted? He had called her a mother substitute. Fish did indeed possess a rather maternal manner, but – if he was honest – Oswald did not know whether he liked these qualities of Fish or despised them. Right now he was definitely using them to his advantage and that was all that mattered. He had killed Fish once before without batting an eyelid and he would do it again. Edward didn't have to worry about it. He had to admit that this night once in the forest, the words Fish had said to him had touched him, but that hadn't been enough to dampen his irrepressible urge for power - and the only one he was willing to share that power with was Edward.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, so Oswald left the bathroom and invited the person in, who turned out to be Ed.

"I wanted to see if everything was all right," Edward spoke with a reserved, almost cool distance. By now he had tied a thin bandage around the slight cuts on his right knuckles. Oswald must have assumed that the injury had occurred during the shooting at one of the many broken window panes, as he had not asked Ed about the cause, only drew his attention worriedly to the blood after the policemen had left.

"It is. I just needed a little rest. Our _'guests'_ are not exactly the inconspicuous type. I'll be down in a minute." Zsasz alone in the mansion was enough to drive Oswald mad within a week.

"What I said before - about Fish--"

"You don't need to apologize."

Edward lowered his eyebrows, leaving Oswald flabbergasted. " _I didn't intend to,_ " he murmured.

Oswald frowned. The Riddler? "Have these switches always been so frequent and I simply didn't notice it before?"

" _Does it matter?_ " In fact, the switches with his alter ego had become more frequent, and even for himself, much more unnoticed. In fact, if Oswald hadn't brought it up just now, maybe he wouldn't have noticed that he was indeed the Riddler right now. "I meant what I said about Fish. She's too dangerous to give her that much space." After all, no lioness, however tame she seemed, was allowed to roam freely in the zoo. And it was precisely in the current rubble of the 'Gotham zoo' that a free-roaming lioness was able to devour even the last stray visitor and finally, on her muscular legs, make her way far beyond the zoo grounds.

"Fish is my responsibility. So let her remain my responsibility. We must trust each other if we are to bring Gotham to its knees."

Ed had pressed his lips into a thin line. Oswald was right, but he still didn't like the whole thing with Fish.

As Oswald approached with slow steps, Ed didn't move, just glanced down at his friend, waiting.

"And I don't care if you're _Edward_ or _the Riddler_."

"You should care."

"Why is that?" Oswald smirked. "Do you two have different feelings for me?"

Ashamed by the question, Ed cleared his throat and looked away. "No. We love you - both of us."

"Then what is there to worry about?" On his tiptoes, Oswald gave his friend a gentle kiss on the cheek, which the latter let happen unmoved. "Is Fish still with Professor Strange?"

"Yes."

Oswald's smile widened and he raised his brows in amusement. "Then why are you here, if she's so dangerous?"

"You're right. I'll keep my eye on her..." Ed replied, almost whispering, then left the bedroom and headed for the ground floor.

Oswald followed his short walk to the room door, but stopped in the bedroom behind the now closed door and leaned his back against it. He shut his eyes. There was so much going on inside of him at the moment that he felt unable to keep up with his emotions and thoughts. Only the day before yesterday he had started a relationship with Edward, yesterday he had kissed him for the first time and promised him to think about _other things_ as well, and today he had had almost no chance to be close to his boyfriend. Was it bad that this didn't necessarily bother him? He liked to spend time with Ed, he loved him after all, but every time they were alone since the beginning of their relationship it ended up in something unpleasant, something Oswald was afraid of – even if he didn't know where this fear came from. What was so hard about that!? Pretty much everyone his age did it, didn't they?

He squeezed his eyelids even tighter as he led his right hand down his body in a halting movement. A gasp of air, a stabbing pain in his chest and he had reached the faint bulge through his trousers, cupped it very carefully with the palm of his hand, and was paralyzed. What should he think of, what should he do? He tried, really tried, to think of Edward, of his face, his smile, the feeling of his lips, the feeling of his hands, his smell, while increasing the pressure of his hand, but his own heartbeat kept him distracted. He couldn't quite interpret the emotional cocktail that was now spreading inside him, but when a severe nausea pushed its way up beneath his throat, he took his hand away again and tore open his eyelids. Only now he noticed that he was bathed in sweat.

"Dinner ready," Olga suddenly shouted through the whole estate, giving Oswald the much-needed escape from the prison that was his own body. 

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pweeeh, next chapter will have some time skips, so we can get faster to the bigger relationship-parts of this story. Well, ruling the criminal underworld, being the mayor AND having a fulfilling relationship at once IS difficult :D So please bear with me.  
> Tell me if you liked the chapter or if there was anything you didn't like.


	19. Edward Nygma, King of the Narrows and slave to his own mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We delve deeper into Edward Nygma's psyche - our guide: Dr. Hugo Strange.

Chapter 19

**Edward Nygma, King of the Narrows and slave to his own mind**

Five days later, Oswald Cobblepot was sure he was about to lose his mind. It all started when he came into the dining room that morning and found two flowerpots with daisy-like pink plants on the table. Next to the table: Ivy Pepper with a small spray bottle in her hand. With love and devotion she showered the plants under a thick mist.

"Where did those weeds come from again?!" screamed Oswald. Only yesterday he had had to stop Ivy from carrying the gum tree downstairs from the upper floor in front of a window 'so it would get better light', and two days ago the crazy plant lady had put a pot of lavender in every single bedroom, because the smell was supposed to be relaxing and help with insomnia ‒ so far Oswald hadn't noticed any of that at all.

"They're echinacea plants," Ivy explained with a little smile and a smug attitude. "They have medicinal benefits, especially for respiratory diseases, so you should totally not call them weeds."

" _Oh_ ‒ I'm sorry. Did I hurt the feelings of your plant friends?", Oswald asked with biting sarcasm before he took a deep breath and continued shouting: "I told you not to turn my property into a greenhouse!"

"You don't have to yell all the time. What's wrong with you?!", Ivy replied with puffed-up cheeks and crossed her arms in front of her chest in offense. "I'm only trying to help make this boring house a bit friendlier, Pengy." Ivy didn't like it here. To her, the house looked as if a hundred generations had died in it and no one had bothered to change the wallpaper.

Oswald closed his eyes in agony. "Don't call me 'Pengy'."

"Why not? It's a cute nickname. _Pengy_." She smiled smugly.

"I'm not _cute_ , and there's no reason for nicknames."

Ivy giggled, then squinted down at the little underworld king with a much too big grin. "You're _totally cute_." She bent over to tap him once on the tip of his nose with her finger.

The childish gesture left Oswald speechless, so Ivy could simply continue speaking. "Besides, we're like a family now ‒ nicknames should be normal." She had raised one hand in a lecturing manner and put the other up to her hip.

" _Charming_..." Oswald spat sarcastically before adding in a protesting manner: "We are not a family. I wouldn't even put up with a freak like you if Fish didn't insist." The idea of getting Fish's monster on his side had already been practically abandoned by Oswald. He just wanted to get rid of these people and have some peace.

Ivy pretended not to care about these words, tilted her head to one side and kept her gaze fixed on Oswald, but the slight trembling of her lips revealed how hurt she truly was and also the small panting before she started talking again. "I am used to that. My real father was mean, too."

Oswald just waved it off with indifference. Why would he care about the family history of a crazy tree hugger? "Whatever. Put the plant stuff out of my hair."

His head was pounding even though the last few days had actually been extremely positive ‒ at least as far as their plan went. Edward had published a video message in which he presented to the governor and the president their conditions for the handover of the antidote: the control over a part of Gotham completely detached from the administration of the rest of the city ‒ no influence of the government, no influence of the police. And all of this was to be contractually assured. In addition to this, Edward had asked for 50 million dollars ‒ a small seed money to build his own empire. Should the president and the governor, on the other hand, refuse, or even get the idea of sending the army against the Van Dahl mansion, Edward had threatened to kill Dr. Strange and with him the knowledge about the antidote.

It had taken three days, but the governor had actually contacted them via the line given in the video and expressed his willingness to cooperate. The only demand of the government: as a sign of his good will and proof of the effectiveness of the antidote, Edward should cure the infected police officers of the GCPD, so that they could better fight the chaos in the city. Then both the president and the governor would willingly sign the papers transferring part of the city into Edward Nygma's hands. However, they still wanted to negotiate about the exact part of the city and especially its size on that day at the meeting to heal the policemen.

Oswald's side project ‒ the power generators from Meyer and Hayes ‒ was also already well under way. Information from the mayor's office revealed that even a first test generator was already under construction. However, the news about the financing of the project was probably not to be released to the press until the generator was actually working and the news could attract more attention from the public than the virus outbreak.

Only one thing had stalled for the last five days: Oswald and Edward's exchange of affection. While the first two days they had still kissed each other ‒ albeit in a rather chaste familial manner ‒ the next three days had been more characterized by hugs and short hand holding. Their relationship developed more backwards than forwards, but the presence of the many criminals at the Van Dahl mansion had ensured that Edward did not have the necessary privacy to complain to Oswald about it. Perhaps Oswald was even taking advantage of this, at least subconsciously?

Oswald asked his maid for an aspirin and then went with the bubbling water glass to the first floor, where Edward was, in the midst of drawing up the contract for the president and governor.

"One more week under the same roof with these people and I'll sign myself up for Arkham," Oswald snorted with a hint of amusement, having sat down in Edward's wing chair and now sipping from his glass. It was not only Ivy who tugged at Oswald's nerves. Mr. Freeze had made himself at home in the mansion's cold chamber and now gave Olga a fright every time she wanted to fetch the meat for dinner. Who wouldn't be frightened by a shirtless man with blue-white skin, snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes who handed you a pork half? As a consequence, there had been no meat at all for three days; Oswald was firmly convinced that he had already lost four pounds because of it, whereas Edward thought that his boyfriend had not lost a single ounce of weight because the calories he had saved on meat had been consumed by his increased alcohol consumption due to his consistent annoyance with the guests.

Victor had turned several of the bedrooms that he and his henchwomen shared into veritable armories and had moved the furniture around for this purpose. In addition, he regularly blasted the house with disco funk while cleaning his favorite guns, and saw only moderate sense in putting on a shirt on the short walk to the refrigerator. Oswald had already damaged several of his vocal cords explaining to the hitman that the display of his self-scarred body was not something he tolerated on his property, but Victor seemed to feel an inner joy in pretending not to have listened to Oswald (or maybe he just didn't listen to him at all). Who, on the other hand, was unexpectedly quiet and inconspicuous was Firefly. She spent most of her time in her room ‒ whatever she was doing there ‒ and only came out to eat and talk to Fish. 

And Martin? Ever since Oswald had given him one of his old bow ties ‒ a purple one with a black floral pattern ‒ and had one of his henchmen deliver other fine clothes in Martin's size to the house, right in front of the patrol cars that were still parked outside the door, the boy had played the role of the little head of the household. He followed Oswald practically everywhere, which was why it had become necessary at some point for Oswald to give the curious boy some kind of task to do. At first he had thought that Edward could give him a few math problems, because Martin liked the subject, but Ed had not been able to formulate problems that were easy enough for a grade schooler to solve, so he finally decided to come up with something himself. At this moment Martin was in the study room of the mansion, eagerly doing some research. After all, anyone aspiring to rule the city in the future had to know as much about its history as possible.

"Have you thought about what part of Gotham we demand?" Edward asked, looked up from the document he was typing and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down a little on the bridge of his nose whilst working. Oswald took a sip of his dissolved aspirin and then placed the glass on the floor next to the armchair before clasping both hands in front of his stomach. "I do in fact already have a definite idea. I've already spoken to Fish about it."

At the mention of Fish, the corners of Edward's mouth had dropped, his expression stiff-faced, his eyes filled with a gloomy wound. "Of course you've already spoken _to_ _her_ about it." He had begun to think that for Oswald he was nothing more than a henchman, a well-oiled machine, a two-legged brain with no needs of his own.

One could tell from the brief tremor of Oswald's lips that he understood why Edward reacted in such a way. "I wanted to tell you before, but I didn't want to disturb you at work either," he argued insecurely and with a crooked smile.

Edward replied nothing, just stared at Oswald's face with a hard, almost scolding glance, which made the other man swallow in discomfort.

He emptied his glass, in the way others emptied their encouraging liquor, then cleared his throat and stood up from the armchair somewhat bumpy. He stopped in front of the seated Edward, carefully touching his hand resting on the tabletop. "I have decided that we should demand the Narrows."

"The Narrows?" Edward repeated in surprise. "I remember one time hearing you say that the Narrows were an eyesore, and if it weren't for bad publicity, you'd have set fire to that sewer long ago."

"That's true, but," he raised his eyelids in playful pride and with a smirk on his lips, "I learned one thing while working for Falcone: _everything_ has a value. He once said this about Indian Hill ‒ of course, he already knew of its high value then. The Narrows have that value too, Ed. We just have to use them right and see them for the blank canvas they are."

Edward didn't seem fully convinced yet. "Aren't the Narrows ruled by the law of the strongest? It will be difficult to get these troglodytes to follow us."

"You got a point there." There was a little smile on Oswald's lips, the smile of a man who was about to reveal a secret. "But I happen to know that they'll soon be looking for new leadership."

Immediately, a dark grin lifted the corners of Edward's mouth, drawing deep dimples on his cheeks. "What happens to the old leader?" he asked whispering. He could already guess, merely asked because he enjoyed wallowing with Oswald in their shared darkness.

But instead of speaking, his friend merely smirked and tilted his head to one side in sadistic joy ‒ that was answer enough.

Confirmed in his suspicion, Edward leaned back contentedly in his chair. "And you intend to rise to their new leader?"

"Not at all, _my friend_. I am already more than satisfied as mayor and king of Gotham. No, I was thinking of someone else, someone who I'm sure knows how to deal with the savage Narrows. What do you say, Ed? Edward Nygma, _King of the Narrows_?"

He didn't know how to respond, didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, a warm pride was spreading in his chest right now, on the other, a foul suspicion. As his mouth had opened at the question and he had raised his eyebrows in surprise, he now closed his lips again and cleared his throat first before he adjusted his glasses. "And _Fish_ is okay with that?" He certainly couldn't picture it.

Oswald had heard the slight hostility in Edward's words, countered with another smirk. "It was entirely my decision. Fish has no say in the matter."

\---

A few hours later, Edward and Oswald were already in front of the Van Dahl mansion, surrounded by a rampart of Victor and his henchwomen. Oswald was tied and gagged on a dining room chair, serving as leverage should the police officers present get any foolish ideas; Edward stood beside him with a gun in his hand. Of course, he wore his identification mark for today's occasion: the green suit with the black waistcoat, the bowler hat, and black leather gloves. And standing next to Edward was Hugo Strange, just drawing up a syringe with the antidote, while Victor Fries watched him with sharp eyes. The only ones who did not attend this little demonstration were Fish, Firefly, and Ivy. They had stayed in the mansion with Olga and Martin. After all, not everyone in Gotham needed to know that Fish was back.

A camera crew was just rolling up in front of Edward, trying to find the perfect scene for the beginning of their TV report, when finally in the background the governor himself got out of a limousine under the flashlight of the reporter crowd. His appearance made Edward's brows furrow.

"You came alone?"

"The president has more important things to do than accept an invitation from a terrorist."

The sentence made Edward smile and a warm feeling of power made him straighten his back. To be called a threat by such high authority figures was a compliment to someone like him.

"But don't you worry. The president has given me all the authority I need to meet your demands." The governor was an ordinary, rich-faced American, with grayish silver hair, sun-red cheeks, a prominent chin and small sky-blue eyes. He wore a gray suit that fitted his shoulders, but otherwise hung down like a sack, and a red tie. On his lapel was a pair of pins: the American flag and the Gotham crest.

"Did he? I'm sure you won't blame me if I'm skeptical, Mr. Governor," Edward said with darkening irises.

"Indeed he did." While speaking, the governor had pulled a paper from his jacket. "I have here a document signed by the president giving me every authority to execute this exchange." He handed the paper to Edward, who critically reviewed it.

From then on, the exchange went like clockwork. Edward had Dr. Strange inject the policemen with the antidote, while the governor read the document that Edward had prepared and discussed its contents with his advisers. The last cop to be cured was Jim Gordon.

"I keep my eyes on you, Nygma. Any dirty tricks and you'll get a nice bullet between your snake eyes!" barked Harvey, while he led Jim, who was handcuffed to Edward's mute knowledge, to Dr. Strange. The detective had wrinkled his nose, looked at Edward with a piercing gaze, which could only be described by the word 'bloodthirsty'.

Edward smiled in amusement, wallowing in his superior position. "Did you know that snakes do not have eyelids? Instead, their eyes are protected by a single transparent scale, also known as _brille_. Isn't that fascinating?"

Harvey just snorted in reply and then, on reaching Strange, tapped his best friend on the shoulder. "You're gonna be all right, buddy. And Lee will be, too."

"I'd rather stay like this instead of accepting help from that criminal!" growled Jim and tried to break free, but Harvey held him by the arms while Hugo Strange prepared the injection. "He's responsible for the detonation of the bomb in the first place!" A mad grin was spread across his face and a fire burned in his eyes, telling Edward what murderous lust lay hidden behind them. So that's what the virus had done to Jim Gordon: it had brought out his violent, murderous, dark side.

If Edward thought about it, maybe it was for the best that they would now use the antidote to tame Jim Gordon again, because as he was now, he was an uncontrollable risk. Even with Victor and all their weapons, Edward wasn't sure if Jim wouldn't be able to kill him and Oswald if he got the chance and get the antidote before a shot could put him down for good.

When the syringe was given and Jim squeezed his eyes as if in agonizing pain, while the deep veins that had encircled his face like a crown of tendrils slowly disappeared, the governor stepped forward to Edward and held the signed document out to him.

"May I ask you a question, why did you choose the Narrows? You could've had just about any part of the city and yet you want this dump full of outlaws?"

"Everything has value," Edward repeated the words spoken by Oswald this morning as he took the document. "I expect the government to have withdrawn completely from the Narrows by the end of the day. Only after my minions have checked and confirmed this, I will send the GCPD the remaining antidote to cure the rest of the city."

The governor made a grimace. He didn't like being kept on the shorter leash and having to rely on the words of a terrorist of all people. "Won't you at least let the mayor go? You no longer have any reason to hold him prisoner and he is badly needed to restore order in the city."

Edward waved his small handgun in the air as he repeatedly clicked his tongue in a threatening manner. "Now, now, now. You see, Mr. Governor, I'm the one who makes the rules here, and I'd like to hold onto the mayor a little longer ‒ until I can be sure _you'll_ stick to our little deal here."

The governor gnashed his teeth. "Then what about that little orphan boy. Isn't one hostage quite enough?" The man had no idea how much Edward wanted to hand Martin over, but Oswald was strongly against it, and Edward obeyed his friend's decision. Somehow, he even had to admit that the boy had been less of a nuisance in the last few days than he had initially thought. Obviously Oswald did not need Martin at all to completely withdraw from Edward and by now Edward had also given up trying to get closer to Oswald on his own initiative. Subconsciously he had hoped that this would bring Oswald out of his shell and increase his openness to more intimate affections, but exactly the opposite had happened: they had hardly touched at all for several days. The brief hand touch this morning had already been unusually intimate considering the days before. Others would now raise hope that Oswald would finally start to show initiative on his own and perhaps Edward would have done so a few days ago as well, but he was now certain that Oswald would not go beyond hugs or a quick kiss on the cheek on his own initiative. But what did that mean for Edward? Should he try to push his boyfriend once again for more intimacy?

While Edward was still in his thoughts, a black van had approached the estate, hidden by the squadron of police cars for so long that it was already too late when Victor and his accomplices saw it rolling up. Everything that followed happened in the blink of an eye, but for Edward, time seemed to be cast in concrete, seconds became eternity. A sliding door opened, three men in hoods jumped out; they held what looked like weedkillers in one hand and a spray gun in the other.

The reporters and unarmed policemen instinctively jumped to the side and fled the property in panic, the governor was pulled away by his bodyguards, who now both reached for their guns, Harvey stood in front of the fleeing civilians and also drew his gun, Dr. Strange crouched behind the small trolley on which he had stored the syringes, while Mr. Freeze powered up his freeze gun. Edward, Victor and the Zsaszettes aimed at the three hooded men, two of whom had blindly rushed forward and randomly sprayed the gas, which they carried in their plastic canisters. They managed to take them out quite quickly, but two of Victor's accomplices were hit by the gas and went down screaming.

The last man had kept his distance, reached for his trouser pocket at the sight of his shot colleagues and pulled something out, which, after a quick movement of his finger, he immediately threw in Edward's, but mostly Oswald's direction. Only when it was actually already too late did Edward recognize the grenade in front of Oswald's bound feet and even before the information had really reached his head his body had already set itself in motion.

" **Os-!** "

In diving forward, Edward had caused Oswald's chair to fall back as he threw himself on the grenade. However, it exploded before Edward's body had touched the ground completely and when at this moment a yellow mist emerged from it, it became clear that this was not an ordinary grenade but a gas grenade and Edward could not prevent himself from breathing it in.

While still in the motion of throwing the grenade, the attacker had been killed by Victor with a single shot, now lay lifeless on the ground next to the two other men. First he looked at his two accomplices who were still pressing themselves against the ground in panic, their bodies trembling and their eyes staring ahead as if a drooling monster was building up in front of them, but when he heard a shrill scream behind him, Victor turned around and looked at Edward who had also torn open his eyelids as if in shock. Behind him, he saw Oswald writhing in his bonds, heard his boss mumble quietly against the gag, so he first put his weapons away and then knelt down beside him to release his ties.

The press, the few bystanders, most of the policemen and the governor had long since disappeared, only Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon stood panting in front of the estate and watched with suspicious eyes as Oswald now freed himself from the gag, crawled away from the fallen chair, put his hands on Edward's shoulders and spoke to him with concern.

"Ed? Are you all right? Ed!"

But Edward was anything but all right. He was in a horror movie and the main actor was his dark self, who moved towards him as if he was walking through a tunnel and made threatening grimaces.

"No... **no!** I am in control! Leave me alone!" He screamed, gasped for breath and slid back on the ground before accepting Oswald's silent invitation and fearfully fled into his arms, where he remained until the effect of the gas had subsided.

"So it was really just an act," Harvey grunted and gritted his teeth bitterly. So his first feeling hadn't deceived him after all. "And now these bastards have part of the city."

Jim next to him had resolutely lowered his brows. "Not without the governor's signature." He took his service weapon, which Harvey had handed him, and stepped closer to Oswald, who was still kneeling on the ground. Jim had his eyes fixed on the document Edward was still holding. However, before he could reach the two men, both Victors blocked his way.

When Oswald raised his gaze in Jim's direction, his eyes were wet and yet threatening. " _Walk away, Jim._ Stay out of it."

Stubborn as he was, Jim naturally wanted anything but to leave, but both Victors now took a step towards him, forcing him to retreat slowly and finally Harvey put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find a way. But first we have to make sure they give us the antidote. Think about Lee."

\---

While Oswald and Fish looked with delighted faces at the document that sealed the handover of the Narrows in Edward's and thus in both their hands, Edward sat one room further on in a wing chair, with a blanket over his freezing body and a cup of tea in his lap. The cup clattered as he led it to his lips with trembling hands. Although the effect of the gas had subsided, his mind had still not fully recovered from the event.

He flinched when someone knocked twice against the door frame.

"How are you feeling?" It was Oswald who now slowly entered the room, closing the glass double door behind him to give Edward a feeling of security and privacy he thought he might need.

Clearing his throat, Edward placed the teacup on a side table and pushed the blanket off his shoulders. "Fit as a fiddle," he lied miserably, forcing himself to smile, a smile that died again far too quickly.

Oswald squinted to the floor, playing nervously with one hand on the middle button of his jacket. "Since the effect of the gas has worn off, you seem so thoughtful and depressed. You're scaring me a little, Ed."

"Less depressed ‒ _check_ ," Edward replied, almost sounding annoyed.

Oswald closed his eyes overwhelmed, had raised a fist and pressed his lips into a thin line. "I didn't mean it that way. I was really worried for you out there. I've never seen you so terrified--" He bit his lower lip, shook his head weakly. "You didn't hesitate when you saw the grenade. You saved me ‒ _again_." The shame forced him to smile.

"I guess that makes us even." This time Edward's smile was real and he longed for Oswald to come closer and kiss him ‒ but it didn't happen.

"Tell me, Ed, what was it that frightened you so much?" Oswald already had an idea because of the words Edward had spoken under the influence of the gas, but he wanted to hear it from Edward's mouth. Perhaps Oswald was also subconsciously trying to find out if Edward would share his psychological problems with him. Since Edward had told him about his alleged second side, they had not had a really detailed conversation about it, and whenever Oswald had tried to find out more about Edward's alter ego, his friend had blocked him out.

"I saw _him_...," Ed replied after some silence, then threw an analytical glance at Oswald, which at the same time had a threatening sparkle in it, admonishing Oswald not to get too involved in the subject. But Oswald had had enough of being excluded by Edward whenever it came to his other self ‒ after all, he was also confronted with this side of Ed in their relationship and therefore had to know how to deal with him.

"I wanna know the extent to which you are different individuals. Can he pose a threat to you?"

Ed struggled with himself. He didn't want Oswald to get too involved in the subject, out of fear of being seen as a wacko by his boyfriend, but he also understood that Oswald was worried. He was worried about himself too. He worried that he would wake up one day and not exist anymore, that his body would be under the control of his darker side forever. "He can't hurt me directly, but he can put me in dangerous situations or hide things from me."

"So you do not share memory?"

"Yes and no. He has the power to decide if I remember things that happened while he was controlling my body."

"And how do you switch?"

"Um... I can't really tell. Sometimes he just pushes himself to the surface ‒ more frequently as of late."

Oswald lowered himself into a second chair when his right leg began to hurt. What Edward was telling him there sounded so chaotic. How was he supposed to handle it? How could he maintain a stable relationship with Ed if the Riddler could come between them now and then without any prior notice? What if the Riddler was keeping things from Ed and Edward felt like a third wheel because of it? What if Oswald pushed the Riddler away and the Riddler dumped his frustration on Edward? What if Oswald didn't recognize at times whether it was the Riddler or Edward who was standing in front of him?

Worried, he started playing with his fingers. "Is there... any way to get rid of the other you?" When he saw Edward, alarmed, tear open his eyelids, he raised both palms in appeasement. "Not that I don't love you as you are, Ed. I just thought you would be more happy not sharing your body with someone else."

Edward looked down at the floor, seemed to realize Oswald didn't mean to attack him with the question. "As a matter of fact, there was a time when he was gone. "

"There was?"

"Uh-hu. At some point before my time in Arkham ‒ I can't say exactly when he disappeared. But the day you confessed your love to me, he came back."

Oswald swallowed. So it was basically his fault that Edward was plagued by his second personality? "Do you have any idea how that happened? Well, I mean, that he, you know, _disappeared_."

Ed shook his head weakly. "I'm not even sure if he was ever really gone or if he was just hiding."

 _The devil within_ , thought Oswald and looked pitifully at Edward. Was there probably someone who had more knowledge about these things and could help them? Someone Oswald could make a deal with?

\---

He would have preferred to talk to someone else about it, Charles Quimby for example. But in view of the fact that Quimby had left town to ‒ as Oswald himself had arranged in exchange for Edward's release ‒ take up a senior management position in a larger psychiatric institution somewhere in a quieter town, Oswald was unable to talk to Edward's former psychiatrist. Unfortunately, only one man remained who had also been Edward's psychiatrist – at least for a short time: Hugo Strange.

The moment was convenient. Strange was alone in the lab. Fish was busy trying to find out where the three mafiosi were who had sworn their alleged loyalty to Oswald five days earlier because, as it turned out, they had hired the men who had attacked Edward and Oswald with the fear gas. But how had these men got hold of the gas? A call to Oswald's police informers had put them on the trail of the Crane family. The father had once produced a very similar gas, but since he had been shot by none other than Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock, there was only one person who could know about the mixture of the gas: his son, Jonathan Crane, who was currently under psychiatric supervision after an overdose of the fear gas. And to find out if Jonathan was really involved in the attack on Ed and Oswald, Victor was paying a short visit to warden Reed.

"How are you getting on with producing the antidote?" Oswald asked in fake bustle as he strolled through the lab, his eyes wandering over the different test tubes and flasks like a true expert.

"I completed this task _long_ ago," replied Strange, who did not take his eyes off the whiteboard he was currently writing on. "I haven't seen you since you delivered me to Miss Mooney. How are you, Mr. Cobblepot?", he finally asked calmly, almost as if they were still sitting opposite each other at Arkham, only the heavy desk of the psychiatrist between them.

"I didn't deliver you to Fish, I just divided your potential between her and I." Oswald lifted a test tube containing a light green liquid.

"You'd better put that back if you don't want to risk changes in your DNA," said Strange, still not looking away from his work.

Oswald followed his advice with a distorted grimace and very cautious movements. "But regarding Fish, I might have a deal for you." In speaking, Oswald had hobbled to the large chest that stood against a wall opposite Strange, lifted its lid and looked inside with a smirk. Inside the chest lay the bound and gagged Jervis Tetch, now staring up at him in panic. "If you're done with the antidote, I guess that means we don't need him here anymore, huh?" Tetch shook his head pleading, screaming against the gag. Satisfied, Oswald tilted his head to one side and then closed the lid of the chest again before turning to Dr. Strange in a quick movement. "Well? What do you say?"

"A deal?" Strange had by now turned away from the whiteboard, did not look at Oswald without suspicion in his eyes.

"I'm sure you care a lot about your freedom, don't you?" lured Oswald, still with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"You want to betray Fish? _Oh my_ , your partnership appears to be built on sand. What does Mr. Nygma has to say about that?"

"This is about him."

"Oh, is it?"

Oswald moved closer to the psychiatrist, built himself up in front of him despite his short height, straightening his back. "You were there when Edward was affected by the gas."

"A really interesting substance. You should be familiar with it, Mr. Cobblepot, after all, you were exposed to an offshoot of it yourself once."

Oswald's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He didn't know what Strange was talking about.

Strange, in turn, seemed to take pleasure in Oswald's confusion. "I used a very similar substance during your treatment ‒ you reported nightmarish hallucinations."

And suddenly the memories came rushing back to him. His hallucinations, in which a copy of him murdered his mother, while he himself could only sit there and do nothing.

"The base substance was developed by Dr. Gerald Crane; a hallucinogenic compound derived from the adrenal glands of phobics. It is said to show people their worst fear." He spoke it with the fascination of a man who had no empathy for the victims. Strange was a scientist first and a psychologist second.

Oswald swallowed. "Edward saw... himself."

" _Oh_ , you mean he saw his projection? His _'alter ego'_?"

The amused way he talked made Oswald raise his eyebrows. "What is it you know about this?"

Strange smirked in superiority, with both hands folded behind his back. "What did Mr. Nygma tell you about his projections?"

\---

Actually, he had been resting for a few hours, hoping to be able to wipe away the images triggered by the fear gas while he slept, which is why he was completely exhausted and tired when Oswald knocked on his room door and asked him to follow him to the ground floor.

Outside the door of the cabinet room his friend paused. "Edward, I'm doing this to help you. Please remember that."

Edward frowned. "What... what is it? To be honest, you are kinda freaking me out right now."

Oswald swallowed quietly and then opened the door.

Cautiously like a wildcat in new territory, Edward stepped into the cabinet room, glanced at Professor Strange, who, hands folded behind his back, stood in the middle of the room, apparently awaiting their arrival.

"What is the meaning of this, Oswald?" In confusion and shock, Edward turned towards his boyfriend, but the latter had lowered his gaze to the floor, standing by the closed door like a guard; a guard to prevent anyone from entering or leaving?

"Mr. Nygma, what a pleasure to see you."

" _Professor._ " Edward's tone was threatening; he felt audibly trapped.

Strange pointed to a wheeled stool. "Please, have a seat."

"I'll pass."

"Of course. Then we'd better get to the point. I've been talking to Mr. Cobblepot about you."

Edward gnashed his teeth, Oswald swallowed guilty.

"Would you please just answer me one question, Mr. Nygma: do you believe your alter ego is a separate being?"

"I don't see why you'd care," growled Edward, his eyebrows lowered to a scowl.

Strange was not in a position to be afraid of the silent threat. Leisurely, he guided the fingertips of both hands against each other. "I can help you get rid of your... alter ego."

"If you think I'm going to let you tinker with my brain, then--"

"Not at all. I won't lay a finger on you. I simply want to have a conversation with you." Strange innocently raised both palms. "That's all it requires."

Edward was still suspicious. On the one hand, he did not want to let this opportunity to get rid of his dark self go by, on the other hand, he was afraid of giving Professor Strange too much power over himself through insight into his psyche. If what Strange said was true, however, Oswald had already told him everything anyway, so he probably had not much to lose.

"He and I are nothing alike."

"So you think he's a separate person?" Strange repeated again in the quest for empirical accuracy.

"Yes."

"And you can see him and know when he takes control?

"Yes." What was Dr. Strange's point?

"Interesting."

Edward growled. "What is interesting about this?"

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but one of these two statements must be incorrect."

"Pardon? Are you saying I'm lying?"

"As a matter of fact, I do not think of you as a liar. And that's why I suspect that your alter ego is not a person in his own right."

Totally overwhelmed, Edward flinched, thinking about what the Professor had said. It couldn't be true. If his alter ego wasn't a person in his own right, what was he? And how was Strange to explain that Edward and his darker side didn't always have the same memories?

"I can see that I have confused you with this. So let me explain: a person suffering from a so-called dissociative identity disorder experiences symptoms such as memory loss, sleep disturbance, confusion. A person with multiple personalities usually only learns about them through other people. He himself will live for a long time in the belief that he is simply forgetful or sleepwalking. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? That you can see and interact with your second personality is proof that you are not affected by such a personality disorder. In fact, what you're describing reminds me more of the psychologically misrepresentation of personality disorder by the media."

Edward noticed that he had started sweating. He didn't want to hear that. Although he knew that he should probably listen, he knew subconsciously that Dr. Strange was right, but he did not _want_ to hear it, did not _want_ to know. Every word from the psychiatrist made his heart beat more painfully.

"Then what is he?" he finally managed to gag out half growling, half croaking.

The professor adjusted his small round glasses, which were probably more of a fashion statement than a real vision aid, before he began to explain. "You never talked about your childhood during therapy, but I can imagine that what you are experiencing comes from the same traumatic source that identity disorders have. Mr. Cobblepot tells me that you refer to your alter ego as your 'darker side'. In your childhood and even later, did you perhaps simply yearn for the dark, but could not allow it in your righteous life? Perhaps you ended up creating this second personality for yourself that had all the qualities that you longed for. He did what you wanted to do, said what you wanted to say and yet you had the opportunity to distance yourself from him and say that it wasn't in your own head. In other words, your alter ego is a reflection of your desires that conflict with the image that you want to present to the outside world." The rest of the information he got from Cobblepot also fitted into this theory. The fact that Edward had already once merged with his alter ego was an expression of his acceptance of his dark ideals and that his alter ego had returned after the confession of love was due to the fact that, in light of Edward's own feelings for Oswald, a new conflict had built up in his mind, which he tried to resolve by means of his projections. Whenever there was something in him that Edward classified as wrong or evil, it became a characteristic of his alter ego and whenever he accepted this evil urge, it 'merged' with him and only when a new urge appeared that Nygma classified as wrong, did his alter ego reappear as the embodiment of that very urge.

Edward suddenly grinned, which surprised Strange and caused his forehead to furrow. "That's all very well, Professor, _almost thrilling,_ but how do you explain the memory lapses I get sometimes after regaining control from him?"

"Quite easily: simple mechanisms of repression. You yourself believe so strongly that you have two personalities, and that you are the good of both of them, that your mind simply represses the actions it considers too 'dark and evil' from your mind."

No! That was a lie! Edward and his alter ego were not the same person. It could not be. Because if they were, then it was he himself who felt the need to sexually harass Oswald and he couldn't accept that!

"You said you knew how Ed could get rid of his alter ego," Oswald interjected to steer the conversation back to its original goal. Edward made a completely desperate impression, but Oswald was firmly convinced that it was worth it if only in the end he would be freed from his dark side.

"Mr. Nygma? Are you familiar with the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde? I think that story would fit your present situation very well."

Edward looked up. No, he was not familiar with that story.

"Well, you know, Dr. Jekyll had the idea of separating his dark side from his good side, hoping to live a simpler life – a life without evil urges. And so he created a drug that split his mind in two: one was Dr. Henry Jekyll, a righteous and popular doctor, the other was Mr Edward Hyde, a ruthless, murderous something. The only thing the two men shared were their memories, even physically they seemed a little different. But the longer the two parts remained separate and the more often he gave in to his lust for the evil side, the more difficult it became for Dr. Jekyll to leave Mr Hyde's body. Some mornings he even woke up as Edward Hyde, although he had not taken the drug and it was more and more strenuous to maintain the shape of Jekyll. A real battle arose between the two. Can you imagine how the story ends?" When no answer came, he continued. "Eventually, Jekyll disappears completely. He loses the fight against Hyde. But in the end, Hyde dies too; he takes his own life, because he is in danger of being caught for all the crimes he has committed."

Oswald puffed up his little body in indignation. "And how is that supposed to help?!"

" _I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two_ ," the professor quoted with unusual perfection.

"We've already passed that point," Oswald bawled in all discontent. By now he doubted that Strange knew how Edward could get rid of his alter ego and it hurt him all the more to see Edward still in a state of shock.

Strange smiled arrogantly. "Jekyll's death was decided when he separated his second nature from himself, and so you, too, Mr. Nygma, will be doomed unless you embrace your dark side completely--"

"Enough of this," Edward suddenly cried out.

"Ed! I think--" Oswald started, but was rudely interrupted by his boyfriend who had turned to him in a quick movement.

"Shut up! This was all your doing!"

"I... just wanted to help you." His voice faded towards the end, lost itself in a squeaking sound.

" _Help_!? What if I asked the professor to analyze you, huh?" Edward gave Strange a look of encouragement. "Why don't you tell Oswald what you told me a few days ago about him?"

Oswald gasped. "Don't! One word and our deal is off!"

"You are a _selfish, spoiled child!_ " Edward continued growling. "As soon as it's about you and your problems, you block everything out!" He spoke with such accusation as if he himself had not done the exact same thing less than an hour ago.

Oswald's indignation turned to anger; he gritted his teeth, wrinkled his nose and lowered his brows. He did not care that the next words escaped him spitting. " **You should thank me!** Without me you would still think your alter ego was an independent being! You might even have hurt yourself at some point and then hated yourself even more for your inner struggle! I just wanted you to feel better." He stomped on the floor.

"Maybe I would feel better if I wouldn't have to deal with _your_ problems too!"

It had happened again. As soon as the sentence slipped out, he regretted it. Oswald's eyes were shock-widened and Edward's lips trembled in exasperation. "Oswald, I'm sorry. I was just angry... I didn't mean that."

Oswald lifted a palm of his hand, had sadly pursed his lips and closed his eyelids. "No, you are absolutely right. Maybe you and I are just not in a good place to have this relationship right now." When he opened them, he had tears in his eyes.

"Oswald... don't do this."

"I'm not gonna kick you out or change our plan. As you so aptly pointed out a few days ago, we still live as if nothing has changed between us anyway."

Edward tried reason. "Don't be childish, Oswald. We can work this out."

But Oswald, unlike himself, was too much driven by his emotions to allow logic and reason to prevail in the moment. He snuffled and sobbed quietly. "Perhaps I'm childish, and perhaps I'm running away from my problems, but _perhaps_ I can help you deal with your own problems this way, and that's worth it to me. Because... your needs and your happiness are more important to me than mine." A sudden laugh escaped him, a self-mocking laugh. "In the end, I guess you were right. For both of us, love is our greatest weakness." And with those words, he finally turned his back and disappeared.

"See, it's like I said: there's not much _grown-up_ in Mr. Cobblepot," Strange interjected in a self-satisfied amusement, but Edward didn't listen to him, hurrying after his boyfriend ‒ or now probably ex-boyfriend ‒ instead.

"Oswald!"

Strange stayed behind, emitting an exhausted sigh. " _Oh, my..._ "

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to break things to reassemble them for the better.


	20. Mirror shards here, family there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Edward makes progress in fighting his psychological problems, Oswald flees into the arms of his "family".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> The chapter name describes the content well. There is way too much happening, but actually it is only one day (with 2 skipped days in between). Truthfully my only goal for this chapter was to get to its final scene, but the day just didn't want to end >.< so in the end I wrote more than 8500 words ö.ö sorry(?).

Chapter 20

**Mirror shards here, family there**

Oswald had immediately moved into his bedroom after the argument and the break-up that had occurred in the heat of the moment, and locked the door so that Edward could stand in the hallway and shout against the wooden surface but was unable to enter. When the doors next to Oswald's bedroom opened and Ivy Pepper and Martin came out one after another, both with worried faces, Edward, out of shame, gave up his siege and returned to his room himself, where he realized for the very first time since Oswald's leaving what had actually happened.

Inside, he let himself fall against the door with a desperate sigh and sank down to the floor without the slightest body control and with an empty expression – more dummy than human. And then something happened, something he hadn't expected: tears ran from the corners of his eyes, more tears than Edward had cried in a long time. He pressed his trembling lips together, tried to hold back the sobbing that still found its way out and finally buried his red face in his own hands.

He had ruined it. Of course he had ruined it. He was such an idiot!

He hit his temple several times with his flat hand. "Stupid! _Stupid!_ **Stupid!** "

 _"Yikes. You look pathetic,"_ it echoed close to him, where a copy of himself sat casually on the surface of the desk, his legs dangling. _"I always thought you were a loser, but sitting here on the floor, wailing, is the crowning glory of it all. Edward Nygma, king of losers."_

Edward gnashed his teeth. "Weren't you listening earlier? You.are.not.real!"

The copy looked down at his own arms as if to check if he could see through them. _"Perhaps, but until you believe that yourself, I'm still here."_ He winked playfully and then laughed out loud as Edward made a desperate grimace.

"I can't believe you're supposed to be me," Edward spat and pressed both hands against his temples. In his head he recited a mantra non-stop, trying to convince himself that his alter ego was nonexistent and therefore couldn't be sitting there.

 _"You better start believing it, because it's the truth. Ohhh"_ , he playfully clapped his hands, put on a euphoric expression, _"and do you know what that means?"_

"That I'm insane?", Edward replied half-heartedly.

_"That you and I want exactly the same thing."_

Edward turned his face to the wall, hissing. Of course, it was all about that again.

 _"And you were so sure you were Prince Charming,"_ his copy continued in ill-played pity.

"Just because you and I are the same person doesn't mean I'll do what you want."

Suddenly he stood beside him, leaning far down towards his ear. _"Didn't you hear what the good professor said earlier? You must accept your darkness – accept **me**."_

Instead of letting himself be intimidated, Edward turned his gaze towards him, lowering his eyebrows menacingly. "I accept you. I accept that I have these thoughts towards Oswald – unfortunately these are facts I cannot refute. _But_ now that I know that these urges come from myself, I can also work to suppress them. The likelihood of me hurting Oswald now is astronomically low."

 _"To prove this, you should probably apologize to him first,"_ his copy responded and sounded surprisingly nonthreatening.

Edward turned his gaze back to the wall. "I will. But I want to give him some time first... and myself. We both have to grow a little more as men so we don't drag the other down with us."

His copy grinned. _"Uh-huh. Wise words. And yet I feel they stem more from a place of fear."_

True. But in the end, maybe that didn't matter.

\---

After an hour without a sound outside the door, Oswald had left his bedroom again. His face was all tear-stained, his skin even a little sore, because he had run his sleeve over his eyes so many times. He sneaked down the stairs on tiptoe, his destination: the whiskey decanter in the parlor. Only alcohol could numb the pain he had inflicted on himself.

But he was interrupted in the fulfillment of his goal when Fish came in through the front door, and with her Freeze and Firefly. Oswald had stopped at her entrance but frantically tried to turn his red face away from her, making Fish questioningly lower her brows. With a quick snap of her fingers she hinted to her henchmen to leave her and her accomplice alone.

Now in quiet privacy she spread her arms with a smile. " _Oswald_. You don't make a satisfied impression, even though we've just claimed part of the city and even stood up to the President himself _and won_." She came closer, put one hand on Oswald's cheek and gently turned his face in her direction, allowing her to see his red, puffy eyes. "What is wrong?"

Oswald swallowed hard, out of shame he had turned away his irises, even though it was too late to hide his tears anyway. He couldn't prevent himself from pursing his lips to a sad sob, while another tear threatened to fall from the corner of his eye.

"Now, now," Fish whispered tenderly and wiped the tear from Oswald's face with her thumb. "Tell Mooney what happened, my little Penguin. Huh?" She had lifted the corners of her mouth in encouragement.

He didn't know exactly why, but he suddenly felt the need to confide in someone – and why not in Fish? "Ed and I..." His voice was weak, lost itself in another sobbing before he pulled up his nose and closed his eyes as if he had to prepare himself mentally for the words to come.

Fish turned her head in suspicion. " _Edward Nygma?_ What did he do to you?" She hadn't said it yet, but you could already hear from her voice that an 'I told you so from the beginning' was in the offing.

" _We_... broke up." More tears, yet again Fish wiped them off his face with her fingers as if she could absorb Oswald's grief by doing so.

She stroked his cheeks reassuringly, had bent down a little to look into his eyes from below. " _Shh_...", she hushed, before pulling Oswald into her arms, who immediately clung around her and pressed his face, once again drowned in tears, onto her shoulder. "It's all right. I feared he was a bad seed from the start and you deserve better, darling."

Of course she was his enemy, of course he still intended to betray her, but he would have to lie if he said that he didn't enjoy being pampered by her like this. 

"You are like a son to me; you know that, don't you?" she asked, while she combed lovingly with one hand through the short hair at the back of his head.

"I feel the same way," Oswald said into the fabric of Fish's dress, not quite sure if he was being sincere.

When he released himself from her arms again, he wiped the new tears from his eyes and forced himself to smile, which looked somewhat tortured. "I was the one who broke up with Edward. I think he needs some time to figure things out with himself."

"I'm sure you did the right thing," Fish replied without a doubt and with a warm smile before pointing to the door leading to the parlor. "Originally I intended to tell you what I found out about the gas attack. Shall we sit down, perhaps?"

Oswald tried to put on a serious expression, which was only moderately successful given that his eyes were still red. "I'd love to."

Fish let Oswald go ahead, poured him a glass of whiskey once they had arrived in the parlor and sat down opposite him in one of the armchairs. While she sat there, legs crossed, balancing the whiskey glass in one hand, Oswald sat as though he had been beaten, clutching the glass between his legs with both hands and glancing down at its golden-brown contents with slumped shoulders.

"I found Snap, Beans and Soriano," Fish began, whereupon Oswald's eyes finally showed something resembling life. With a stern sparkle he looked straight towards her.

"So? Where did they get the gas?"

"Unfortunately, they couldn't tell me anymore."

Oswald frowned, whereupon Fish, with her head tilted to one side, added, "Because they were already dead when I got there."

"That... that doesn't make sense." He pondered. Actually, this could only mean one thing, and he saw in Fish's eyes that she had thought of it, too.

Almost like a sign, Oswald's cell phone now started ringing and he pulled it out of his jacket to see the number of Victor Zsasz on the display – maybe he had already found the second piece to Fish's discovery. 

"Victor."

"We might have a problem." He heard the assassin's heavy shoes, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

"Why? What did you find out?"

"That Crane boy ain't here no more."

"Where did he go?"

"Supposedly, he was sold to Gianni Snaps for a shitload of cash."

Oswald crunched. "So it's true..."

"Should I visit Snaps next?" You could hear from his voice that Victor was smiling.

"I don't think that'll be necessary. Snaps is dead and so are his partners. Did Reed say anything else about the boy?"

"Uh-uh... he didn't say much." He had been to busy screaming. 

"I guess that'll be all then, Victor."

"Yep. On my way back."

"No sign of the boy yet?" asked Fish after Oswald had slipped the cell phone back into his inside jacket pocket.

"No. Crane vanished without a trace, and if we're unlucky, whoever has him now is not on our side."

"If someone really did take him," Fish suggestively said, causing Oswald's forehead to furrow.

"What is it you're suggesting?"

"The dead underbosses had all three traces of an as yet unconfirmed substance on their faces, under the influence of which they apparently murdered each other." She raised her eyebrows.

"The fear toxin?" Oswald moved forward in his armchair. "You think Crane broke free and killed the men himself with the gas he had produced for them."

"It is within the realm of possibility."

A slight smile made the corners of Oswald's mouth shake. "In that case, we have nothing to fear. Crane's aim has nothing to do with me or Ed. He'll seek his revenge elsewhere." No doubt, if Crane had escaped, he intended to visit Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock, the men who had killed his father.

\---

Two days passed in which the trail of Jonathan Crane remained cold and the government cleared the Narrows as promised. Now, for Edward Nygma the day had come to pursue the next step of their plan and therefore move to the Narrows; Firefly would accompany him as his bodyguard. Oswald, on the other hand, had to act out the role of the mayor, who had been freed from a long imprisonment, and planned to call a press conference for that purpose; the perfect time to present the completed power project and perhaps even have one of the generators put on display.

Oswald was happy that he would be allowed to leave the house again from today on and maybe he was also, at least subconsciously, a little happy not to see Edward for a few days. The first two days after their breakup had been terribly awkward. Their conversations had been limited to the bare essentials, there hadn't been the slightest physical contact (Oswald had preferred to rather move around Edward in wide circles than to walk past him all too close and maybe touch him by mistake in the process) and as a result Oswald was getting much closer to Martin and Fish.

Actually, Oswald wanted to know how Edward was doing – especially regarding his alter ego – but he was just too proud to be the first to seek contact again. Unfortunately, Edward felt the same way and so they kept quiet and only engaged in overly professional conversations.

The day of farewell Edward stood on the doorstep with a small suitcase and dressed in his dark green suit and put the bowler hat on his head with his gloved hands.

"I'll contact you as soon as possible to let you know my situation," he said to Oswald, who then nodded slowly several times.

"That would be appreciated."

They stood there in silence for a moment, waiting for the other man to make a farewell gesture. Oswald was the one who dared to reach out his hand, which Edward answered with a frown.

"Please, Oswald, we are business partners. In Greece, colleagues greet and say goodbye with cheek kisses; a hug should therefore be much more appropriate." He stretched out an arm, waiting for Oswald's reaction, which came in the form of a consenting yet distant smile and the imitation of his arm movement.

"You're right. _A hug it is_."

In an oddly slow pace they strode towards each other and interlocked their bodies, each taking a deep breath behind the other's back, absorbing the smell of the desired man and smiling briefly. Then they immediately stiffened their facial features again and detached themselves from each other before Oswald took a few steps back in a mechanical motion, to create more physical distance between them. Their eyes spoke a silent 'I'll miss you', then Edward turned and left the estate. Outside, Firefly was waiting. They had a long way ahead of them and planned to arrive at their destination without a confrontation with police. But as long as Edward still had the antidote, the GCPD would hardly lift a finger to stop him from entering the Narrows. The hard part would not begin until the antidote was delivered.

He wanted to finish the takeover of the Narrows as quickly as possible so that he could return to Oswald or have him join him. In the last two days he had already felt himself becoming more and more in control. From time to time his alter ego still appeared – especially when Edward was exhausted – but with him it was very much like a dream: once you realize that you're dreaming, all the horrors disappear, but with them also the miracles, leaving behind the relieving yet also disappointing feeling of sober reality.

\---

The day of Edward's farewell was also the day Oswald had scheduled with professor Strange for his release, because an event occurred which he had already anticipated and which he could use to his advantage. While both Victors kept an eye on the street outside to cover Edward's and Firefly's departure and Ivy worked in the garden, Fish was already waiting for Oswald at the end of the stairs and apparently wanted to talk to him about Edward. And because he had anticipated it that way, Oswald gave Martin, who was standing in the doorway behind his back, the agreed sign and the orphaned boy set off to do his intended task: to knock a pattern of three fast and two slow knocks against the cabinet door, then push open the outer latch and quickly take off. From then on, whether he escaped was in Strange's own hands.

"And you're sure Nygma won't betray our cause and enrich only himself in all our shared endeavors?" Fish asked as she descended the final steps.

"I am. You'll have to trust me."

She led one hand to Oswald's cheek, caressing tenderly with her thumb the skin, which was smoothed by makeup and powder. "You I trust." She kept her eyes lovingly fixed on him for a moment before lowering her brows in disdain. "Nygma not so much."

"He will not betray us," Oswald insisted with a soothing smile.

"I hope for your sake you're right about this, _and_ that you're not solely holding on to him because you still have feelings for him."

When Oswald thereupon turned his gaze away guiltily, she grabbed his chin with a little too much force, turned his face in her direction. "Look at me," she demanded, because Oswald had directed his eyes stubbornly past her.

Only reluctantly did he follow her command.

Fish leaned further towards him, forcing him to also lean forward a bit with her grip until the tips of their noses almost touched, before she said in a mixture of admonition and scolding, "You deserve someone better." She then gave him a gentle pat on the cheek and returned to an upright position. "And now there's something I wanted to show you. Be a lamb and follow me upstairs, will you?"

At first Oswald had swallowed and straightened his figure, had simply been taken by surprise by Fish's words, but then a little smile came over his lips, because it suited him so well that Fish wanted to go up to the first floor with him – thus Strange was able to leave the property completely unrecognized through the back door, which he had asked Olga this morning to keep open until noon.

He followed her into the room she occupied since one week, and waited by the floral-patterned upholstered chair to the right of the door, while Fish took out a large reddish-brown portfolio and placed it on the narrow desk under the window, where she first opened it and then beckoned Oswald to join her.

"Is that--?"

"This is an accurate map of the Narrows as they currently exist, and this-" Fish pulled out a second map, which was color-coded, "is a first possible distribution of territory."

Oswald pulled his brows together. "You're giving me and Edward the entire eastern half, even though it gives us perfect access to Miller Harbor? What's the catch? What's in the western parts of the Narrows?"

"Nothing of particular significance. I just thought you'd like the section which is closer to City Hall," she whispered, drawing an invisible line from the purple-marked eastern section of the Narrows down to the City Hall District.

"You're giving up the obviously better part of the island out of sheer generosity? Forgive my suspicion, but I'm not used to this kindness from you."

"I've always been _nothing_ but kind to you," Fish replied, and it was difficult to tell whether she was joking or actually meant it.

Oswald raised both hands. "Let's not argue about that now."

Fish stepped around the desk to Oswald. "I would see no reason to divide the Narrows if it were just the two of us ruling it together."

"I will not betray Edward, nor will I allow you to harm him. "

"Honorable words from the mouth of a man so dishonorable." Her scolding look caused him to lower his eyebrows. Fish turned away. "I will take professor Strange with me to the west of the Narrows, where he can complete his work on my army."

"This is what you hoped for from this territorial arrangement. You want me to give Strange to you so he can build you your mighty army. After that, it won't matter who has what territory. With such power, you could conquer my territory at any time."

Fish gave only a faint smile, hiding every emotion behind the raised corners of her mouth. Perhaps Oswald was wrong in his renewed accusation, but perhaps Fish was just playing an especially long game.

He took another look at the map. With Miller Harbor, he could establish a trade route that would bring black market items straight to Gotham, weapons, artifacts, jewelry, and the Narrows would be the perfect repository for this expansion of his criminal empire. There, the goods would be stored, sorted, repackaged, and finally distributed throughout Gotham. In brooding, he had ran his finger across one of the streets. Through this trade route, he could also bring high quality alcohol to the Narrows, alcohol that could be served in an establishment he had long dreamed of opening. But before it could happen, the Narrows had to bow down to Edward and the landfill had to become a respectable place that deserved to receive even customers from the highest circles.

\---

Even his chauffeur had smiled at Oswald like a messiah when he left the estate, in the city hall he was encircled by his employees, some secretaries even hugged him without being asked, which made Oswald squeeze his eyes together with annoyance; but to keep up appearances, he let it pass.

Also waiting for him were Allan Hayes, in a dark brown tweed suit, and a young woman, sporting a pinstriped pantsuit and wearing her blonde hair in a professional updo. Next to them on the stone floor stood a large square box , covered with a gray sheet.

"Mr. Hayes, I'm glad that you were able to come despite the adverse circumstances of the last few days," Oswald greeted the man, had stretched out a welcoming hand, which the elderly gentleman with the almost white beard immediately took hold of.

"We are delighted with your invitation, Mr. Cobblepot. It is only thanks to you that we were finally able to bring this wonderful project to a successful end."

"I won't disagree." He smiled broadly, added his second hand, which he placed on the back of Hayes' hand and thus embraced it, "But from the moment I saw your designs, I knew what great potential they had. You really do have an excellent engineer among your employees."

"Yes, Mr. Wilde is really exceptional," the man laughed in flattery, and as Oswald loosened his handshake, the CEO pointed to the lady beside him. "This here is Mr. Wilde's assistant. She will supervise the demonstration of the generator."

The woman now also reached out her hand to Oswald. "You can call me Ecco."

"My pleasure. A pity Mr. Wilde couldn't come in person."

"He values his privacy."

Oswald turned his head in bewilderment. "Even at the mayor's invitation?"

"Especially then."

Allan intervened, fearing that Oswald might take this statement too personally. "Mr. Wilde has a very secluded lifestyle. I, too, have not had the opportunity to meet him in person. Mrs. Ecco here handles all affairs requiring some form of personal contact."

Oswald found this both odd and suspicious, but he made no further comment.

By the time the meeting was over, Tarquin had already arranged everything for the planned press conference. But before the mayor climbed the lectern, his chief of staff informed him that he had managed to postpone the interview with Margaret Hearst because of the mayor's kidnapping – the new date was the day after tomorrow at 7:30pm in the city hall and the interview would be broadcasted live. He didn't show it, but Oswald was a little bit afraid of the interview and the hostess, who was known for her persistence.

As he made his way to the lectern, the many bystanders who had flocked around the stage between the reporters cheered, warming Oswald's chest and causing the corners of his mouth to shoot up. They had obviously really worried about him, their mayor.

"My beloved Gotham, I stand here today, firstly to celebrate my freedom," rejoice in the crowd, "and secondly, to apologize to you, dear citizens." The cheers died, questioning looks were exchanged as Oswald cleared his throat. "For the man holding me captive was none other than Edward Nygma, my former chief of staff. And because of this former business relationship, I lacked the necessary caution when he approached me one night. He was able to take advantage of this and capture me. There is nothing I can do to excuse this, and I humbly beg your forgiveness, good people of Gotham."

Oswald lowered his eyes to the lectern, pressed his lips together under a surge of adrenaline, while the silence made his heart race. But when suddenly a loud applause reached his ears, he smiled, lifted his head and let his gaze wander through the crowd, smiling back at him – they had bought it.

"Thank you very much. And I would also like to thank the GCPD and the Governor for all their efforts. Without their help, I might not be standing here today and I am sure that we will soon have the antidote to cure all those who were infected in that terrible detonation. Although I am reluctant to do so because of my personal dislike for my former kidnapper, I see it as my duty to ensure that the pact between the Governor and Edward Nygma is upheld: for you, citizens of Gotham, your health and safety. Until the antidote is delivered, I have given the GCPD all the resources they need to control the chaos in the city so that you can sleep peacefully."

Satisfied faces in the crowd, more applause. Even though the resources had been available to the GCPD even during the absence of the mayor, because, in truth, the city hall practically ran itself, it seemed to give the citizens a special feeling of security to hear it from their mayor that everything was under control.

" _But now for something completely different._ There is a third reason I am here today. Before my kidnapping, I launched a project whose first fruits we can reap today."

Under the flashlight of the press, Oswald unveiled the new power generator that was to supply City Hall from now on as a sign of a new beginning. Further generators were to be distributed tomorrow at central points throughout Gotham to steer the city into a clean, modern future. To celebrate Gotham's new power supply – and hopefully also the healing of all the infected – a ball was to take place tomorrow night, during which the city was to be disconnected from the existing power grid in front of everyone present. The announcement was made at short notice, but the work for the festivities had been underway since Oswald knew that the first generators had been completed. Moreover, this ball was good for reuniting Gotham's elite behind the mayor over a sip of champagne.

\---

An angry call from Fish had ordered him back to the Van Dahl mansion early. The reason was obvious: she had discovered that Strange had disappeared without a trace. What became clear, however, only after Oswald had hobbled through the front door and had found Fish yelling as she threw a vase of flowers against the wall, was that she accused Edward.

"Did you know!?" she shouted at Oswald, panting loudly. A disappointment flashed in her eyes, stabbing him in the chest.

"I had no idea, but I also doubt that Ed had anything to do with it," he lied perfectly, despite the unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

"Who else could have done it? My people are loyal," she insisted with a raised forefinger.

Oswald closed his eyelids in appeasement, raised both hands. "I don't want to accuse any of your people. Couldn't Strange have just escaped by himself?"

"I doubt he would have ravaged the lab before then."

"Ravaged?" Alarmed, Oswald's eyes widened. That hadn't been part of his plan.

He was about to follow her into the cabinet room when Victor suddenly stormed into the house. "The GCPD is on their way here."

"What do they want all of a sudden?!" Oswald shouted, the day already threatened to grow over his head. He quickly turned around to Fish. "Fish, _please_ , could we postpone this conversation about Professor Strange's disappearance until tonight? I promise you that neither I nor Edward had anything to do with it."

She had mistrustfully pursed her lips, looking critically at Oswald. "You will help me find him again." It was not so much a question as an order.

Oswald had a crooked grin on his face. "Of course."

"We should probably go if we don't want to be found out," Victor interjected.

"You're right. Where are Fries and lvy?" Fish asked.

"Freeze has gone already. The other one... I don't know." It's not like Victor was her nanny.

Oswald hissed unnerved. Of course, this Ivy was the one who would get them into trouble.

"Trust her, she's smarter than you think," Fish reassured him before she disappeared through the back door with Victor.

It wasn't long before Oswald heard footsteps. He straightened his figure and waited, but instead of the police, Ivy joined him in the dining room with Martin at her hand.

"I told you I heard him come home," she said to the boy, who then smiled. "Where did everyone else go?"

Oswald had clenched both hands together in fists. "You stupid--"

"Who do we have here? If it isn't our _poor, unfortunate_ mayor. How does the newfound 'freedom' taste?" it came sarcastically from the doorway.

At Harvey's voice Ivy shrieked loudly, ran immediately behind Oswald and now hid herself poorly behind his short body. Martin had followed her on instinct.

"What is your business here?" Oswald asked in a hostile tone. He had no time for Harvey and Jim and wanted the two policemen out of his house as quickly as possible.

"We have every right to be here and-" With a dirty grin, Harvey pulled out a slip of paper, "search the entire property. A search warrant, courtesy of judge Bambam."

With a hiss, Oswald tore the document from Harvey's hands. He was right. The police were allowed to search every room and even the gardens. That could take hours...

Nevertheless he smiled deviously and shrugged his shoulders. "Go on then. I have nothing to hide."

Angered by Oswald's self-confidence, Harvey growled, leaned down to the smaller man to blow his heavy breath into his face as he spoke. "We'll see about that."

This merely made Oswald more scornful and he tilted his head to one side. " _Gentlemen_ , I'm sure you will not need me to supervise your work. So if you'll please excuse me." He wanted to go back to the cabinet room before the GCPD to see the devastation Fish had spoken of. He was concerned that someone else might have gained access to the property without his knowledge.

"Hold on." When Oswald turned around, Jim had grabbed lvy's arm, stopped her from leaving. "Haven't we met before?"

"Let go of me! You're hurting me!" Ivy yelled, pulling away from Jim's far too tight grip. "Yerk cop... Is that how you treat someone whose parents you murdered?"

And suddenly it dawned on Jim. "Ivy Pepper?" How did she grow up so fast? It must have been one of those miraculous events that were almost normal in Gotham. He closed his eyes, made a rather pitiful grimace. "I'm sorry about your father, but we didn't kill your mother."

"You might as well have! She killed herself because of you!"

"And now you are working for Penguin?" Harvey now asked disparagingly, whereupon Ivy crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Maybe."

"Ivy here is... my assistant," Oswald quickly claimed, to keep the conversation off the subject of crime. Ivy seemed to like this because her eyes sparkled with excitement before she gave the two policemen a haughty look.

"That's right, I'm Pengy's _assistant_."

On hearing that hated nickname again, Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, but kept quiet in front of Jim and Harvey and finally took off. Ivy and Martin followed him.

The latter was eyed with questioning glances by Jim and Harvey as he left, before the police captain pulled out his cell phone.

With increasing displeasure Oswald came to realize that Harvey and Jim had already let a bunch of policemen on his property who were combing the place. The way to the cabinet room was blocked. But before he could sit down in the dining room for a glass of aspirin instead, he remembered the plans for the Narrows, which Fish had kept in her room, so he hurried as fast as a limping man could to the first floor, where fortunately no policemen were present yet.

"Oswald, I have a few more questions for you," Jim suddenly shouted, stopping Oswald on the top landing of the stairs, who thereupon cursed mutely before giving Martin in front of him a thoughtful look and then leaning down in front of the boy.

"I need a favor, young friend. Do you know where Fish's room is?"

The boy nodded.

"On her desk is a portfolio of maps. The maps must disappear without the policemen seeing them – got that?"

Martin drew down his eyebrows with almost uncanny determination and nodded once before walking quietly down the corridor towards the bedrooms.

\---

"And you really wanna stick with this ridiculous story? We saw how concerned you were about Nygma two days ago, so the damsel in distress number doesn't work for us. So what d'you wanna claim next? You got Stockholm syndrome?" growled Harvey. They hadn't found anything in the estate yet. There was nothing here to proof that Cobblepot had faked his kidnapping. Only a child's drawing of Nygma, Cobblepot and the little boy had made Oswald twitch the corners of his mouth for a moment before he replied that the drawing had been made before the time of his captivity.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Captain Bullock," Oswald said in sneering sweetness, with both hands folded in front of his stomach and leaning back in the dining room chair on which he was sitting.

Jim narrowed his eyebrows as a truckload of justice lowered the corners of his mouth. "Do you really think you can get away with pretending you and Nygma are enemies? Sooner or later, we'll take both of you down."

Oswald smiled broadly, his dimples framing his pointy face. " _I'll take my chances._ "

As Martin entered the dining room shortly thereafter, a happy smile on his face, Harvey grew uneasy. "Where did that little squirt come from now?!" He had kept Oswald and Ivy with him so that neither of them could destroy evidence, but he had already completely forgotten about the child after his call earlier. "Who saw where the boy went?"

"He came from upstairs", someone shouted back, hurrying down the stairs, in his gloved hand a small trash can and a pack of matches. "I found this in the bathroom. Looks like he's burned something."

" **What!?** "

Oswald and Martin exchanged looks – silent praise – and Ivy gave a satisfied giggle, because she thought the little rascal was really cool.

Meanwhile, Harvey had hurried to the trash can, fished out the charred remains and stared at them as if that would tell him what they had been. "God damn it!"

"You are wasting your time, Captain Bullock," Oswald whispered smugly, wallowing in his superiority. "You will find nothing that could incriminate me in any way."

Harvey growled. "This is not over!"

"I beg to differ. But of course you're free to have another look around." He removed a piece of lint from his dark blue cutaway jacket, on its pointy lapel he wore the crest of Gotham – the same jacket he had worn for his election as mayor, and to match it, he hadn't styled his hair too wildly today. Right now he was the spitting image of an upright mayor who had nothing to hide.

\---

Soon after, Harvey received a call from the commissioner, who had probably learned that the GCPD was searching the mayor's house. Furiously, he ordered Bullock to leave, who in response could only squeeze his cell phone between his fist and order his boys to gather up through clenched teeth. As long as Penguin was mayor, he was almost untouchable. He would have to confess his crimes before the eyes of all citizens in order to be removed from office and brought to justice.

Oswald accompanied the policemen to the door, remained standing in the door frame with an indestructible smile, while Ivy and Martin lightly bumped their fists behind him.

"Good job, kiddo."

But while the policemen were still loading their equipment into their vans, a bright yellow car drove up the road to the Van Dahl mansion, from which an elderly lady with a bun, blouse and knee-length skirt emerged, carrying a leather briefcase.

"Hello? Mr. Cobblepot? I'm Miss Tumbler from the orphanage." Instead of reaching out to him, the woman peeked inside where Martin was hiding behind lvy. "Ah, there he is. Martin, will you come here, please. You've enjoyed the mayor's hospitality long enough." She made gestures to get the boy out of the manor, even by force if necessary, but Oswald instinctively stepped aside, blocking her path.

"Mr. Cobblepot?" She lowered her eyebrows questioningly.

"Martin was in no way bothering me all this time. He's welcome to stay a little longer...", it escaped Oswald in a somewhat stuttering manner, whereupon the orphanage director apologetically lifted the corners of her mouth and took a deep breath.

"I was hoping to avoid this, but it is my duty to consider the welfare of the child and since Martin has been with you, Mr. Mayor, you have already broken an agreement with us and the boy has been the victim of a kidnapping. You are the patron of our orphanage and as such we owe you a great debt of gratitude and that is why I appeal to your better judgment. It is wonderful and understandable that you are attached to the child after spending some days together, but Martin is better off elsewhere."

When Oswald, his lips slightly open, didn't answer and merely remained on the threshold, the lady indicated a short bow and pressed herself with a mumbled: "Excuse me", past Oswald to pull Martin out of the estate by the wrist.

The boy made a panic-stricken grimace and tried to break free, managed it at one point and ran into Oswald's arms, wrapped himself firmly around the body of his father figure and shed tears of despair. Oswald quietly gasped for air as his eyes also filled with tears, and he squeezed Martin closer, who had buried his tear-stained face in the expensive fabric of Oswald's black waistcoat.

Besides grief, however, Oswald was also filled with a poisonous rage and he cast a piercing glance at Harvey, who was just getting into his car. Bullock was to blame for this. He had informed the orphanage of Martin's continued stay at the mayor's house. He would pay for that!

The woman urged Martin to let go of Oswald with a renewed grip around his wrist, pulled him towards her car. Oswald just stood there, watching everything as if through a screen, unable to move, unable to say another word, unable to stop the tears running down his cheeks. What had he become mayor for, if he was not even able to keep an orphan boy with him? His helplessness made him feel puny and weak, the ideal breeding ground for his low self-esteem. He already knew where this would lead: in order to prove his power to himself and to enforce his will, he would get Martin out of the orphanage with dishonest methods and thus possibly make himself a target of the police again. Nobody should underestimate him!

Ivy had stormed out of the estate, her eyes also heavy with tears. "But it wasn't his fault," she argued. "Pengy's not to blame for being kidnapped. It's not fair! And Martin wants to stay here. Can't you see that, you old witch!?" She stomped on the floor. This could not happen. They were a family, and families were supposed to stick together. Ivy didn't want to lose her family again. But what should she do? What could she do?

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's not that simple. Taking care of a child means taking responsibility for everything that happens to the child. But even without the kidnapping, Mr. Cobblepot doesn't have the qualifications to apply to us for adoption – even for the mayor, we can't make exceptions."

Maybe there was something she could do after all. With a slight smile, Ivy opened the perfume vial she was wearing around her neck and drizzled two drops of the perfume onto her left wrist.

"Before you go, I have one more question." She caught up with the woman, put the perfumed wrist under her nose. Miss Tumbler had no chance to protect herself from the perfume, the effect of which she was unaware, and immediately sank into a foggy frenzy. "What would it take for Pengy to adopt Martin?"

"He would have to be certified as qualified for adoption."

"And how would one become certified?"

"Such a certificate requires careful examination. This includes special training, financial and criminal background checks, home inspections, medical check-ups, and interviews with family and friends."

Ivy swallowed. Oswald could never pass this. The criminal background check alone would be enough to make him fail. "And you wouldn't happen to have the power to issue such a certificate without all those annoying checks, would you?"

"It would be fraud and multiple forgery."

Ivy winked. "But you would do it for me, wouldn't you?"

A heavy blush settled on Miss Tumbler's face and she squinted down in shame. "Of course I would."

With a smirk, Ivy then threw her head back towards Oswald, who had lifted his eyelids in a mixture of amazement and overwhelming joy.

"Don't worry. I'll accompany her to the orphanage and see that she issues you this weird certificate and lets you adopt Martin."

Oswald didn't know what to say, but Ivy helped him out. " _Thank you?_ "

"Thank you..."

She grinned broadly. "You're welcome – after all, we're family, right?"

\---

Just in time for dinner, Ivy finally returned to the Van Dahl mansion with Martin and the signed adoption papers. Even before Oswald could greet him, Martin had already thrown himself into his arms with a beam, while in the background Ivy held up both thumbs. But even after seeing the documents and putting his name underneath, Oswald still could not believe that Martin was now his rightful son. He was overjoyed, but also somehow melancholic, because he had hoped that Edward would be with him that day.

At dinner, for which Olga served plenty of food in order to celebrate, Oswald checked his cell phone more than once, but he had neither a message nor a missed call from Edward, even though his best friend had told him this morning that he wanted to get in touch with Oswald as soon as possible. Slowly he began to get seriously worried, after all, the Narrows were by no means a safe place. Maybe he should have sent Victor along with Ed in addition to Firefly? Maybe he should have come himself – no matter what the people of Gotham thought of him! To hell with them!

Since the incident with Strange this afternoon, Fish had been remarkably cold to him. His offer of a clarifying conversation had been refused by her. Instead, she had left the estate after lunch to go on a search for the professor together with some of her men. Oswald regretted a little that he had ruined their good relationship, but it had been the only smart thing to let Strange walk free to prevent the power-hungry Fish from maintaining an overpowering army.

After dinner, Oswald had gone to the study with a glass of red wine and Martin, gave the newly minted Cobblepot offspring a brief introduction to his family history (which Oswald himself had only recently acquired on his father's side by reading some of his father's writings and the few stories he had been told). But over and over again he caught himself gazing longingly at his mobile phone and at some point his impatience was so great that it burst out of him as anger.

"He should have already called! Why didn't he?! Why does he keep me waiting like this!? Surely he can imagine how worried I am!" he cried out as he stomped up and down the room. Martin was sitting on a desk in front of him, his legs dangling. "Listen closely, Martin. You cannot rely on friends!"

He paused in his rage when he saw his own reflection in the night-blackened window. Swallowing, he lowered his arms, with which he had previously gestured wildly, and closed his eyelids self-critically. He sounded almost like his mother whenever Oswald had been away from home for too long. All that was missing was that Oswald accused Ed of making him wait because he was held by some 'painted hussy'. He had always well understood his mother's worries during his long absence, but her obsession with the idea that Oswald could run away with some woman had annoyed him.

He smiled the unpleasant situation away and then walked towards Martin to put both hands on the boy's shoulders. "You know what? Please forget everything I just said. I'll simply call him myself and I'm sure there's a logical explanation for everything."

He lowered himself onto the striped chaise longue in the middle of the room and dialed Edward's number. The call was answered almost immediately, almost as if Edward had been waiting for it with his cell phone in his hand, like Oswald had done before.

"Oswald," Ed answered and had a very strange tone in his voice – somewhere between shame and euphoria.

"Ed. I've been expecting your call."

Edward cleared his throat and Oswald could see in his mind's eye how he adjusted his glasses in embarrassment. "Forgive me, Oswald. I've been very busy." Oswald couldn't tell whether it was a lie or the truth.

"How are things going?"

"Well, as you predicted, the Narrows were in chaos because of the assassinated leader when I arrived. Wars of leadership were fought and as a result, the so-called Northern King of the Narrows, a man called Sampson, has taken control of the island and rules the people with a cruel hand."

"Will you need my help to take him down?"

"No, I already have a plan. If everything works out, taking down the Narrows will be a piece of cake." Oswald heard him snap his fingers and knew that Edward must be holding his phone caught between his shoulder and cheek. "How is the rest of our plan proceeding?"

"The public has forgiven my kidnapping and embraced the generators with enthusiasm. Besides, Strange is gone."

"Fish must have been furious." You could hear how pleased Edward was.

"She was. She's on her way to find him again. In fact, I think someone abducted him."

"Abducted?"

"Everything went according to plan and the professor could have just walked out the back door, but instead, the lab was ravaged and Tetch disappeared too."

"That's really... _odd_."

"And the GCPD was here today looking for evidence of my involvement in the takeover of the Narrows – they had a search warrant."

"But surely they didn't find anything incriminating. Bullock wouldn't find any evidence even if it were twice underlined and blinking."

"If they had found anything, I doubt I would be able to sit here and talk to you on the phone."

It was quiet for a moment, but then Edward spoke in a faint voice. "This is the first time in two days that we have spoken this freely."

Oswald forced himself to smile. "Perhaps the distance is good for us."

"I think I'll soon have my alter ego completely under control."

"I'm glad to hear that." Oswald bit his lower lip. So the breakup really helped. He was both relieved and hurt.

"I miss you, Oswald."

"I miss you too, Ed..."

Renewed silence, an unspoken 'I love you' lingered in their words.

Clearing his throat, Edward began to speak again. "I... still have a lot to prepare--" In fact, you could hear him working in the background.

"Of course. I'm hanging up."

"I'll call you tomorrow evening."

"All right."

It was only after he had lowered the phone that he realized he hadn't told Edward about the adoption. Maybe it was for the best.

\---

Around ten o'clock he ended Martin's lesson and set off for his bedroom with a whole bottle of red wine in his hand. He couldn't bear the thought that Edward had already made great progress with his problem, while he hadn't even thought about his own. Instead, he had cowardly fled into the arms of his motley family and distracted himself with his duties as mayor and crime lord.

But after the phone call with Edward he had made up his mind to do _it_ today and for that very purpose he took the wine bottle into his bedroom, where he immediately headed for the bath. He opened the cork and placed the bottle next to the bathtub before filling the tub with hot water and undressing.

He still remembered the last time he had managed to go through with it and especially his heavy drunkenness that day. It had been some time before he had become mayor, and also the few times before had only taken place under high alcohol influence, so he planned to get drunk this time as well.

While waiting for the tub to fill, he took several sips directly from the bottle. In paranoid fear, he had locked both the bedroom and bathroom doors to ensure that no one could find him in this situation.

When he turned off the water and climbed into the hot bath with the bottle between his fingers, he staggered briefly, but managed to keep his balance and let himself sink into the tub until his naked, pale skinned, thin body was completely engulfed by the wet heat. With a satisfied sigh he leaned back and poured the next sips of red wine down his throat until he felt he could no longer fully perceive his body.

He watched undisturbed and only out of the corner of his eye how the bottle almost fell off the edge of the tub when he put it down and then leaned back again like others lean into their pillows. A surprised moan was released over his half-opened lips as his right hand found its way through foam and hot water between his thighs. He shivered, arched his back and pushed his hips out, thereby losing his footing in the tub and sinking deeper into the water, which was now up to his neck.

From then on everything happened like a feverish dream. His hand moved completely on its own, while his hip pushed itself towards the eagerly-awaited touch in strong, erratic thrusts, the water being constantly whipped up by the sudden movements. Oswald's head was completely empty, fixated solely on the hot-cold shivering between his legs, the much too arousing twitching that grew stronger and stronger each time. When he heard himself moaning, he shoved the palm of his left hand between his teeth, suppressing his noises, and, under the influence of the alcohol and the numbing of his body that came with it, he would probably have bitten his hand completely bloody, if he hadn't come at that moment with a last rapid movement of his hand.

Still in the afterglow of his orgasm, he laid his head over the edge of the bathtub and squinted at the white ceiling with a blurred gaze, while the already familiar feeling of self-contempt, for which he knew no origin, spread through his once again accessible body.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact: For me it was really uncomfortable to write these affectionate scenes with Fish ö.Ö with anybody else it's ok, but when Fish is the second person, everything inside of me resists - even though I really love Fish.
> 
> Next chapter will be the ball :3 and maybe the interview with Margaret Hearst so that finally an arc begins which I have been looking forward to for a long time. (besides Oswald's psychological problems arc, which will happen in parallel to it and which I teasered again in the last scene because I'm mean ö.ö).
> 
> See you next week!  
> Diripio


	21. Wake up alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Edward throws himself completly into his work, thereby endangering his health, Oswald has to stand answer in an interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huhu. I just wanted to say, I made an own Gotham map, because I found no map online that had really everything I needed and the maps the series itself used (in season 1 and in season 5) never had the narrows anywhere... So I mixed several existing maps for it an added some places: https://i.ibb.co/0V3063D/Gotham-Karte.jpg (I just put it here as an orientation. So you know where everything in this story is supposed to be :D)

Chapter 21

**Wake up alone**

It was already after nine the next day when Olga, without knocking, pushed down the handle to Oswald's bedroom and found with confusion that the door was locked. Mr. Cobblepot had never locked the door before – at least not since the maid began working here. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and then leaned her ear against the door to see if she could hear her boss inside. But when no sound came out, she snorted in annoyance and put her hands on her hips, then walked a few steps further down the corridor, where she stopped in front of a chest of drawers whose surface, decorated with a fine gold grain, displayed not only a bust of the ancient philosopher Plato but also one of Epicurus, which Olga lifted in order to retrieve the duplicate key to the master bedroom underneath.

She opened the door and immediately wanted to run towards the high windows to draw the curtains aside, but on the way her eyes stumbled over the wide open bathroom door from which light was shining. Inside she found the tub filled to the brim with ice-cold water, and an empty bottle of red wine. The floor in front of the tub was soaking wet, and from the puddle, clearly visible, several footprints led back into the bedroom. On the wooden floor the traces had already dried, but the way to the bed was still clearly visible, where Oswald was lying, his body naked and his face in the pillows; the blanket merely brushed against his skin, and underneath him you could see that the sheet was completely soaked. He had obviously got himself very drunk, then had taken a bath, and finally, with his body still wet, had simply let himself fall into bed. Olga could only shake her head at the sight and now she finally walked to the windows where she drew the curtains with a loud tug.

The sudden flash of light and the clattering noise caused Oswald to groan, which was swallowed up by the pillow, and he clumsily began moving on the mattress. Olga stepped beside him, gazing down at him from above with an annoyed look as Oswald sat up in bed with a snort.

"Already past nine," said the maid, whereupon Oswald gave her an empty look before he, probably alerted by a cool breeze, glanced down at his body and only now seemed to realize that he was naked. A shrill sound escaped him as he frantically reached for the blanket and pulled it up to his neck.

Olga only briefly raised an eyebrow. She was really too old to be bothered by the fact that her boss slept naked – apart from the fact that she found it absolutely ridiculous that he seemed to be ashamed of his free chest as well. "Breakfast ready. _Up_ , I need to clean room. Everything wet..." She grumbled something incomprehensible and pointed with accentuating gestures to all the mess she had to clean up.

But Oswald remained in bed, staring at Olga with such a strange mixture of severity and insecurity that the maid finally snorted. "I'll wait outside," she said in resignation and disappeared from the room.

Only now did Oswald let the blanket sink, stared critically down at his body, and then eyed the clammy sheet. He couldn't recall how he had got into bed, but obviously he hadn't dried himself off before. He was freezing, so he wrapped the blanket around his body again when he got up and hobbled to the dressing room.

For breakfast he simply put on underwear, a shirt and pajama bottoms, and slipped into his robe. He needed almost a whole bottle of hairspray and additionally some gel to tame his hair, which had dried wildly due to the late bath. Still, he didn't regret last night, after all it had worked – at least if his memories didn't fool him. So maybe he should try it more often from now on and hope that someday he would be able to do it without getting wasted beforehand.

When he stepped out of the bedroom, Olga stood there with a mop and a bucket in her hands, slipped right past him into the room and closed the door. Inside she wanted to pull off the bed sheet first, but faltered when she saw several tiny red spots on the white cloth that she had not noticed before. What had her boss done last night? She was worried...

Meanwhile Oswald had arrived in the dining room, where beside Ivy and Martin also Fish was sitting at the table, the morning paper in her hands.

"Have you found any sign of Strange?"

"No," replied the woman, annoyed, then folded the paper and finally caught her gaze on something Oswald hadn't noticed yet. "What happened there?"

Oswald followed her gaze down to his left hand, then lifted it into the light to take a closer look at the wound, which consisted of a distinct bite mark. The bite had turned the skin quite blue, and in two places his teeth had even scratched the flesh very faintly, revealing thin traces of blood. 

"Oh, _that's--_ that's... nothing. An accident – _nothing to be worried about_ ," he replied with stumbling words and an up-covering smirk, but gasped in shock when Fish reached out and grabbed his wrist. She rose as she looked at the wound pattern and for a short time it became very quiet in the dining room; Martin and Ivy had even stopped eating.

They both dropped the cutlery in shock when a smack cut the air – Fish had slapped Oswald in the face. Ivy immediately jumped up from her seat, afraid of Oswald's anger, which now had to follow inevitably. But the beaten man remained silent at first, for he himself was completely frozen in shock. His lips and eyelids wide open, and his left hand remained stuck in the air on the way to his painfully burning cheek. Inside of him, however, an angry cocktail was already bubbling up, nourished by the sour taste of the curtailment of power he had suffered through Fish, which weighed even heavier in the presence of Martin and Ivy. Who did she think she was!?

"You call yourself King of Gotham, but what kind of king hurts himself just because he's moping about some second-rate bitch?" Fish scolded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Too many times her heart had been broken for her to carelessly enter another relationship.

Oswald clenched his jaws, his eyes had turned sharply on Fish and a soft snort had escaped him at her words. Apparently she believed that Oswald had hurt himself out of grief for Ed and he hated that she was indirectly right about this; but the details behind his bite wound were much more complicated. "I didn't ask for opinions," he therefore returned snappy.

Fish merely smiled over Oswald's scornful remark, then turned her head to Ivy, who had still not continued breathing. "Ivy, darling, would you get me a bandage and ointment, please?"

Like a child in the face of her quarrelling parents, Ivy fled the room to get the antiseptic ointment from her bedroom, which she had finished yesterday. She left Martin at the dining room table, who looked anxiously back and forth between Oswald and Fish.

" _Oswald_ , sit down. Let me treat your wound." Fish pointed to a chair that she had pulled back for him.

"I don't need your help," Oswald spat back, causing Fish to lower her chin, smirking.

"I didn't say that, did I?" As she spoke, she narrowed her gaze upon him, her lips so far raised that you could see her tongue slowly moving against her palate at every word.

Oswald was just hissing when Ivy came back through the door and placed both a jar of homemade ointment and a bandage on the dining table, then, with her head lowered between her shoulders, she ran back to Martin. 

Seeing the ointment and given the fact that it was only now that he actually noticed how much the wound on his hand hurt, Oswald sat down at the table with Fish, propped his chin up in his hand in an attempt to look as indifferent as possible, and demonstratively kept his eyes turned to the side, instead of watching Fish open the small jar of ointment, and then very gently rubbing the cooling substance with two fingers onto the blue and swollen skin. She looked for Oswald's gaze several times, but he preferred to act like a sore and ignorant child. When she saw him squint briefly at the bread knife lying on a basket in the middle of the table, she smiled.

"You wanna take revenge for that slap? Go ahead, do it. But remember that _you_ yourself were the one who hurt you first. I merely showed you how _weak_ you look right now. So you should actually thank me." She lifted his hand and carefully wrapped the bandage around it until the bite mark was completely hidden.

Only now did Oswald face her again, in a quick movement of his head, his brows lowered. But before he could say anything, Firefly suddenly came stomping into the dining room, tore Oswald out of his rage and made him jump up from his chair.

"How's Ed?"

The sound of her heavy work boots echoed on the wooden floor as she approached Oswald with a note between her index and middle finger. "Sampson is dead. Everything went smooth. Here's the bill from the assassin," she said in an indifferent voice, holding out the bill to Oswald, who did not accept it without a frown.

"An assassin? Couldn't he just use you, or...", Oswald raised his eyebrows stunned and lowered his chin, "a gun?" He hadn't actually thought of Edward as someone who would delegate 'the fun' of taking out a big fish like Sampson to someone else.

Firefly made a throw-away gesture. "I dunno, he said he wanted to take him out _with flair_."

Oswald pursed his lips. That sounded more like Ed. "Krank Toys and Models", he quietly read off the bill, then briefly glanced at Firefly before he continued reading. Under the name of the toy shop the item was listed with which Sampson had apparently been killed: a model airplane.

Fish had made a grimace when he had mentioned the shop's name. "And he can't use the $50 million he got for the antidote?"

"The money exchange doesn't take place until today, so Penguin has to cover the expenses."

Oswald hadn't even needed that reason. He smiled broadly and raised his eyebrows, before replying, "Consider it done."

\---

_"Are you sure it's a good idea to combine these two drugs? It would be a shame if they end up compounding your symptoms rather than alleviating them..."_ , his alter ego said with a broad smile as he shook the two pill bottles. In fact, this was not so much a question as a statement.

Edward did not answer him. He had the hope that his reflection would disappear if he just stopped talking to him.

_"So now you are trying to ignore me? I can **just talk louder--** "_

" **Shut up!** "

_"Yikes. You don't look so good, Eddie. A little pale around the nose. Maybe we should have a little check-up, huh? You know, see if the old noodle still works like it should. Are you sure you even wanna face him again in a state like this? He'll think you're completely nuts!"_

Edward squeezed his lids together. His head boomed and his fingers were trembling. Again and again he slipped with the screwdriver and slowly lost the patience with his body. But his alter ego, sitting behind him at the metal desk, was even more irritating. Panting, he turned away from the generator, took a few long steps towards the desk and grabbed one of the two pill bottles, from which he put two pills on the palm of his hand and swallowed them in a perfectly fluid motion.

_"Oh, there it was again. Sure that's good for you?"_

"That's none of your business."

 _"But it is. I am you, you are me – we've had this conversation already."_ His alter ego shrugged.

" **I know!** " Edward grasped his temples with both hands. The pounding in his skull just wouldn't stop.

_"I could have told you right away this was a bad idea when you immediately went to the nearest quack yesterday after your arrival to get pills against me. And what is even **this**?"_

He took a closer look at the bottle to the right, turned it to read its contents. _"There's so much caffeine and methylphenidate in here, that it will be a miracle if you ever sleep again after all this. Have you even read the side effects?"_ When Edward didn't answer, but continued to work on the generator instead, his alter ego grinned and leaned back in the chair before he unfolded the list of side effects. _"Hmm, what do we have here? Decreased appetite and thirst?"_ He looked up at Edward, scrutinized his pale appearance. _"Check. You haven't eaten or drank anything since yesterday. Increased sweating?"_ Another glance to Edward, then his alter ego grimaced. _"Check. Insomnia?"_ He giggled. _"Check. Rapid heartbeat, headaches and dizziness? Check... Do you also experience trembling limbs? Oh, and what's this I read? Hallucinations..."_ His alter ego grinned broadly before he leaned forward and, with words breathed through his teeth, added another _"check"._

" **Be quiet!** ", it suddenly burst out of Edward, who had turned to his reflection, growling, the screwdriver threateningly clutched in his hand.

Edward's reaction only made his alter ego seem more amused. Giggling, he threw himself back and forth in his chair. _"Irritability – check! But seriously..."_ , he rose, strutted over to Edward who had started to work on the generator again. _"You should stop popping that stuff. It's pitiful! Besides, you're only harming yourself whereas I am even getting stronger."_

"If you are just a projection of my subconscious, you are treatable," Edward replied grumbling. "Besides, I can't afford to sleep now, I have to--"

_"Unite the Narrows behind you to get back to Oswald as quickly as possible. If you have not destroyed yourself by then, Eddie."_

"It won't be long now. Once I find a way to strip that generator of its weapons capability and restore the power the governor took from the Narrows, there will be no doubt about my position as leader. Until then, I cannot waste precious time sleeping."

Sampson had already been killed on his orders and Edward had been officially proclaimed the new King of the Narrows, but that was not enough. The Narrows had to stand united behind him and at the moment there were still voices that rightly held him responsible for the fact that the Narrows had been condemned to a life in darkness since yesterday. With the handover of the Narrows to Edward Nygma and the withdrawal of the state administration, the governor had also ordered that the electricity on the island be cut off. Oswald, of course, had been unable to do anything about it, after all there was no objective reason to contradict this directive of the governor. But he had already had one of the new generators delivered to the Narrows last night to his best friend. However, Edward couldn't simply use this generator as long as there was still the possibility that an opponent of his rule could turn it into a bomb. Perhaps Oswald had to be less careful in Gotham – after all, he could set up strict sentries at each generator – but in the savage Narrows, Edward could not risk the existence of such a weapon. He had to disarm it, but that proved to be an impossible task if he didn't want to interfere with the generator's function.

\---

By Oswald's standards, he was actually dressed rather plainly for today's ball. He wore an all black tailcoat with pointy lapels and black Oxford shoes, a white waistcoat with sporadic dark checkered ornamental stones, over a white tailcoat shirt with angular brass buttons and sleeves covered in a pattern of rhinestones which at first glance seemed chaotic, large checkered brass cufflinks with a white, slightly pink shimmering opal in the middle, a white bow tie and white gloves – which also hid his annoying bandage. And since his cane maker had called this morning, he also carried his new cane with him. Again, it had a handle in the shape of a silver penguin head, but the eyes of the animal were decorated with the deep purple tourmaline that Edward had gifted him. His top hat, on the other hand, together with his black coat and white cashmere scarf, he had left at the cloakroom on his arrival a few hours ago.

He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked, his weight mostly resting on his cane, towards the large window that pointed directly to the skyline of Gotham. He took a sip of the alcohol, which felt strangely heavy because of his excess yesterday, and then pulled his cell phone out of his tailcoat. Edward wanted to call him tonight, but Oswald was not sure if he would forget again – just like he had forgotten yesterday. The last messages they had exchanged had been about Oswald paying the bill and that Edward's antidote exchange had went smoothly. That was hours ago. It had been quiet ever since.

"He'll call you eventually," it suddenly came from behind him, where Ivy was standing, in a figure-hugging dark green evening gown, a glass of champagne in her hand. She sniffed at the white-golden liquid and then pulled a disgusted face before she handed her glass back to the next passing waiter and helped herself to the orange juice mixture instead.

Caught, Oswald turned his head away from her and scoffed. "Who says I'm waiting for a call?"

Ivy smirked and then superiorly put one hand on her hip. "Well, you keep staring at your phone, Pengy. I mean, _duh_ , it's totally obvious you're waiting for a call from Nygma. What do you think kiddo?" She bent down a bit to Martin, who didn't seem to know what to answer. Like his father, the little Cobblepot offspring wore a black tailcoat, but with white buttons and silver-white decorations on the pointed lapel, a white waistcoat, which also had silver-colored, but playfully floral decorations, a silver bow tie that looked a bit too big on him, and black leather shoes. His otherwise quite untamed, curly hair had been bent with gel into an artful mane.

"Martin has no interest in your silly theories," Oswald immediately interfered. "Besides, I told you, you could only come if you didn't call me 'Pengy' in public."

"Oh, right." Grinning, she once hinted at a punch against her own forehead. "I completely forgot. But 'Mr. Mayor' sounds so uptight. I would hate to be addressed like that," she argued, which made Oswald roll his eyes.

"I don't care what you think about it. If you want to stroll within the high society, you must learn to speak like them, got that?"

Ivy scoffed. "That sounds really exhausting. Come on, kid, let's go check out the buffet instead." She had to admit that she had imagined a ball more exciting, but in reality only a hundred old people in stiff clothes met here and talked about subjects drier than the alcohol they were sipping from. Although there was also dancing, there was no one here with whom Ivy wanted to dance. Of course, she could have danced with Oswald or Martin, but with his limp, Oswald wasn't exactly a born Gene Kelly, and Martin was a grade-schooler, and dancing with a child becomes boring at some point.

After Ivy and Martin had disappeared in the direction of the buffet, Oswald turned back towards the window and a blink of an eye later he had his mobile phone back in his hand, staring at the small display clock. It was already half past eleven. At exactly twelve o'clock the lights in Gotham would go out for a few seconds and the generators would be turned on, then Tarquin would call him to the stage for the second time that evening so that the mayor could give a little speech 'on the beginning of a clean age of electricity'. After that he would probably not have the opportunity for an undisturbed telephone conversation – even for this short time now alone at the window he had had to work hard by having many boring conversations and welcoming people. This was perhaps the only opportunity until after the ball to talk to Edward...

\---

**Ba-dump** , **ba-dump** , **ba-dump**. The pulse that rang between his ears had turned into a time bomb; every beat seemed to drive him deeper into darkness, every beat burned into his skull from the inside. He knew he would immediately sink into a deep slumber if he closed his eyes now, but before this could happen, he had to make a note of what he had thought of. He believed he had found a way to disarm the generators without depriving them of their function!

His arms felt like fluid dough as he tried to reach out for the notebook that lay beside him on the desk surface, struggling to hold on to the armrest of the greasy, worn out sofa. He slipped off the upholstery and, as he fell, bumped his arm against the two pill bottles at the foot of the sofa, which tumbled over with a rattling sound.

He was just thinking about whether he should take another pill to regain energy when someone glided past him light-footed like a ghost and sat down on the surface of the desk, right on the open notebook, which Edward could no longer think about. He followed the movements of the person, dressed all in noble black and white, with drowsy admiration, even managed to twist the corners of his mouth into a faint smile as he tried to reach out and touch him. "Oswald..."

Behind him on the other armrest of the sofa sat his alter ego, casually crossed one leg over the other, and sneered mockingly. _"I'll give you a hint. The odds of him actually being here are one in a thousand."_

But why would Edward care about logical facts right now? His eyes were about to close anyway. Whether he was dreaming or hallucinating didn't make much difference.

Not-Oswald smiled down at him with a dignified, almost commanding blink of an eye, then lifted his head to listen to the soft music that was playing only because Edward had hoped it would keep him awake. The attractive hallucination swayed slightly to the beat, closed his eyes with pleasure, and pursed his fine mouth to sing along to the lyrics that sounded so sensuously from his lips as if it had been written for him, and him alone. And yet Edward knew that the words he was singing had escaped from his own yearning mind. _"When he comes to me, I drip for him tonight. Drowning in me, we bathe under blue light. He's fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts. He floats me with dread. Soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed. Pour myself over him, moon spilling in. And I wake up alone..."_

Not-Oswald seemed so satisfied in his singing, batted his black eyelashes seductively several times and exposed his porcelain throat briefly again and again in the gentle swaying of his head, so that Edward smiled despite the sad lyrics and tried again to reach out his hand to him. His desire for the other man visible in every quiver of his lower lip, every stuttering exhalation.

_"And I wake up... alone. And I wake up... alone. And I wake up alone."_

Edward closed his lids as the outlines of his ex-boyfriend faded before his eyes, but jumped up when a loud ringing echoed off the bare walls of the workshop. He dragged himself up from the sofa with fawn legs and ran to a metal coat rack where he pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. "Oswald," he exclaimed in surprise when he saw the name on the display, and from the corners of his eyes he saw Not-Oswald putting on a dirty grin and his alter ego tilting his head in excitement.

Seemingly replenished with a little energy by the call, he flipped the mobile phone open and held it to his ear while turning his back on Not-Oswald and Not-Ed, like a gesture of courtesy. "Oswald..."

"Ed?" He merely whispered into the phone.

"Yes..."

In the brief silence that now fell, because no one knew what to say and no one wanted to admit that they simply wanted to hear each other's voice, Edward walked to the small iron barred window that offered a view on the Diamond District. Somewhere over there, in Gotham Downtown, Oswald found himself, possibly wrapped in the finest fabric, sipping a glass of champagne, while Edward was stuck in the Narrows with dirty suit trousers and rolled up shirt sleeves and wished for nothing more than to be able to stand next to his ex-boyfriend again and smell his sweet yet tangy perfume.

"How's your _work_ progressing?" Oswald, of course, could not openly address in the presence of Gotham's elite that Edward had just taken over the Narrows for them.

"I expect to have the people fully behind me by tomorrow. So you can start sending me resources and architects to start our little construction project. Once that is in motion and your men are stationed as sentries, I can also return to Gotham."

"Be careful on your return. Now that the exchange has taken place, they will not let you leave so easily."

That was correct. Unless there was a good reason, the GCPD wouldn't let Edward out of the Narrows without a fight. Edward was even worried that Oswald would soon be forced from higher authorities to barricade all eight entries into the Narrows or, in the worst case, even blow them up. To prevent this, the Narrows had to become a profitable trading partner for Gotham.

"Maybe it would be better if I came by for a visit. But I can't do that until the day after tomorrow or tomorrow night, after my interview with Margaret Hearst. I can't risk anyone seeing me during my visit and being questioned tomorrow in front of all the people of Gotham about my reasons." Oswald sighed, then added, again in a hushed voice, "I'm sorry, Ed. For being unable to help you, I mean."

"You are helping me, Oswald, even though you can't be here." Edward squeezed his eyelids together as another pain ripped through his skull. He was glad Oswald couldn't see what a mess he was at the moment. King of the Narrows -- right now he was nothing but a bogeyman for all those who wanted to take the throne of this garbage dump to enslave the people living here. But once he had secured the power supply for the island and received personnel resources from Oswald – because there was no lack of money thanks to the antidote exchange – he could finally pursue the visions that he and Oswald had for this concrete cemetery.

Oswald laughed softly. "The only reason _she_ hasn't moved to your place, by the way, is that she's still looking for the professor. So it was a good decision to let him go."

"Speaking of letting him go, do you have any more information about who might have taken him and for what reason?"

"No, but--"

Edward saw in the window reflection how Not-Oswald slowly rose and came towards him, stopping right behind him.

"Edward? Are you listening to me?"

"Y-yes." He shook himself. "I'm just a little tired. That's all."

He could literally see Oswald's expression before him. That worried grimace, the slightly lowered corners of his mouth, the wet green-blue eyes, and finally his lips lifted back up into a soothing smile. "Don't overdo it, Ed. Some things take time and your body needs rest too."

"I know..." Rest he intended to take once he and Oswald were reunited. He opened his lips in shame when Not-Oswald suddenly clasped his hands around his shoulders and pressed his forehead between his shoulder blades. But as soon as he realized that he could not feel the touch at all, because this Oswald was not real, he snorted desperately.

"How-- how's it going with your other self? I mean... do you still see him?", Oswald suddenly asked with reluctance.

Edward swallowed, not daring to turn his gaze to the right, where his alter ego sat on the sofa with a stern look, let alone peer at the window reflection where he could still see the fake Oswald standing pressed against his back. He was struggling. Should he lie?

Probably as a result of his thoughts, his alter ego suddenly rose from the sofa and stepped right behind the fake Oswald. Edward was startled when he heard strained noises, had torn open his eyelids in a panicky stare as he watched his reflection put his hands around Not-Oswald's neck and now choking him mercilessly. The fake Oswald just stood there gurgling, his hands raised trembling to his throat, his eyes more and more bloodshot, his lips more and more violet.

"That's not going to happen!", cried Edward, returning the cold gaze of his alter ego, while fake Oswald sank lifelessly to the ground.

"What's not going to happen, Ed?", asked the real Oswald on his cell phone in turn.

You could hear Oswald calling Edward's name several more times as he slowly put the phone down, holding it far enough away so that his friend could not follow the conversation with his alter ego.

_"What makes you so sure, huh? It's happened with every relationship you've ever had. What makes Oswald so special?"_

"He doesn't think I'm insane. He understands me!"

 _"That was before he knew that you are – as a matter of fact – insane,"_ argued his alter ego, and enjoyed holding his tongue dramatically long against his palate and moving his fingers through the air like a conductor.

" **I am not!** " he cried out, then dropped his gaze on fake Oswald, who was still lying lifeless on the ground, and knelt down beside him. The touch, however, went nowhere, as there was nothing he could touch.

_"You swallow pills! You no longer sleep, eat or drink! You have a conversation with your reflection and see your ex-boyfriend. What is this if not insane, Ed?!"_

As the voice on the other end of the line sounded more and more worried, Edward lifted the phone back to his ear. "Oswald..."

"Ed! You were gone..." Oswald sounded relieved and a little breathless.

"I'm sorry... I'm... very busy." He averted his gaze as if to hide his lying eyes.

"Oh – I see. I'm sorry to bother you while working. I know you said that you would call me, but--"

"No. It's fine... I'm glad you called." He smiled faintly.

"It's almost 12. Are you standing by a window?"

He rose from the floor again. "Yes." Edward could hear a crowd counting down on Oswald's end of the phone. "Oswald?"

"Huh?"

"What can fill a room but takes up no space?"

Oswald brooded aloud while Edward could see all the lights going out in the distance. For a few seconds, the candles that lit his workshop seemed to be the only spot of light in all of Gotham. But triggered by a single building, Gotham suddenly shone again in a wave of electricity. "Light."

\---

It had probably been a bad idea of Oswald to try it a second time that evening, because the alcohol he had already drunk at the ball and the general restlessness of his stomach because of his intoxication the night before had already been enough so that two quick gulps from the whiskey bottle, with which he had wanted to drink himself thoughtlessly this time, were enough to make him throw up. He slept the night with a feeling of defeat and woke up the next day with a head and stomach ache.

Only by drinking lots of tea, taking aspirin and eventually even choking down a tincture that Ivy had mixed for him did Oswald manage to get back on his feet by the time of the interview that evening.

Edward hadn't contacted him since yesterday, but when he was taken by limousine to City Hall in the pouring rain during sunset to meet Margaret Hearst as agreed, and he could see from the window that the Narrows were lit with electricity, he decided to visit Edward after the interview, congratulate him on his work and maybe even get a little closer to him again. Edward hadn't told him yesterday if he already had his alter ego _completely_ under control, but on his day of departure he had claimed that he was already more and more able to handle his psyche.

In City Hall he was already expected by Tarquin and some assistants, who took him to one of the many offices and made sure that the mayor was well powdered and wired for his interview in front of the camera. Only when his skin was completely matt and every strand of hair was exactly where the stylist wanted it, he was taken to the big hall where a camera team was completing the set for today's interview.

An assistant pulled a fluff from his black cutaway jacket, and finally Oswald was able to sit down on one of the two brown leather chairs that stood in the middle of the column-framed hall. Opposite him, already with visible impatience in her stern face: Margaret Hearst, in a magenta blouse and a knee-length pleated skirt.

"Finally," she remarked, as if she had been waiting there for hours, looked at the mayor with her piercing eyes, which reminded Oswald of an eagle from which no prey escaped. The image was further accentuated by her white hair; her back-styled curls formed a soft yet noble-looking nest around her head. "Then we shall begin."

He tried to smile smugly, with both elbows resting on the armrests, while a sound engineer tugged at his microphone cable once more. "With pleasure."

In the background someone counted down.

Miss Hearst looked at Oswald with a slight smile while her scornful eyes revealed her true feelings. "I hope you're ready, Mr. Mayor. _The world_ is watching."

The corner of Oswald's mouth twitched briefly, but then he widened his smirk. "The world will see that I have nothing to hide."

The muffled sound of a spinning film reel indicated the beginning of the show.

"Mayor Cobblepot, as Gotham continues to see a historic increase in jobs and prosperity despite this terrible virus attack, and is even experiencing one of the safest periods in its history and, since yesterday, an age of clean energy, I'm sure many people at home are wondering: how did he do it?

"Well, I think it is safe to say that the close and efficient cooperation with the police and the hard measures against any form of crime have played a decisive role, but of course also the investment in future-oriented projects. The new gene--"

She interrupted him with a raised forefinger. "Excuse me, but returning to the subject of crime: isn't it somehow surprising that you, Mr. Mayor, have fallen victim to crime twice in this short period of steadily falling crime rates?", she continued, visibly enjoying watching Oswald swallow. "And both times the perpetrator was the same person, wasn't he? Edward Nygma. He was still working for you just a few weeks ago. In fact, he was your chief of staff and personal friend." She paused for a moment and let the words sink in on Oswald, who, despite all the powder, already had the first beads of sweat on his forehead. "First he entangled you in a robbery and murder, three people fell victim to him, and many more were held captive for hours and threatened to die a horrible death by fire. Your _former associate_ made headlines that day as the criminal 'Riddler' and claimed that you were complicit in his crimes. You denied it."

"That's right. I had nothing to do with this." Oswald's heart was pounding with fear. He had expected Edward's crimes to come up, but Margaret Hearst seemed determined to make this topic the centerpiece of the show. It panicked him. What did she know? What was she gonna accuse him of?

"The next time, you were even kidnapped by Edward Nygma and held captive in your own home. Only in exchange for the whole Narrows did he release you and the antidote to the virus that was plaguing the city at the time. Is that about right?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I've already held a press conference on the subject. Perhaps you've seen it." He smiled as if unaffected.

"Is it also true that you and Mr. Nygma are romantically involved?"

As Oswald froze for a moment, Margaret smiled, she smiled a knowing and presumptuous smile.

"Where did you get this information?"

"You don't deny it?"

"Who _alleges_ such a thing?"

"Is it so important where I got my information from?"

"It is not true. Some people enjoy making up scandals," Oswald protested, trying to smile away the tight feeling in his chest, but the slight trembling of his lower lip betrayed his nervousness for whoever was looking for it.

"Then the rumors that you conspired with your lover to take over the Narrows are probably not true either."

"Excactly." Margaret seemed to find his denial all the more amusing. It didn't matter whether he admitted or denied it. The mere fact that she could make these insinuations against him on camera damaged his reputation tremendously. He should never have agreed to this interview.

"Hmm." Miss Hearst let herself sink back into her chair, looked long and deviously at Oswald, who in turn sat there with a stern look and a stiff posture, his hands cramped in front of his stomach. "I really admire you, Mr. Cobblepot. Two strokes of fate in _such_ a short time and yet you sit here before me and seem to be in the best of mental health. If I were you, I would probably be quite insecure, traumatized even, but you are in good spirits. You need to give me the number of your therapist." She laughed in fake heartiness, whereas Oswald merely grimaced. That didn't go well at all. He had to turn the wheel somehow.

Miss Hearst crossed her leg. "If you and Mr. Nygma have no deeper relationship, tell me, how do you plan to deal with the Narrows that he occupied in the future? I'm sure my viewers would feel safer if there were plans to cut off the island from the rest of Gotham."

Oswald opened his lips, but got lost in his thoughts. This was definitely the wrong time to speak out against isolating the Narrows, even if he could use the population of the small island as a reason. As he pondered, he noticed how some of the bystanders became tense and begann talking in small groups, exchanging nervous looks. Something had happened. _What had happened!?_

The show host became impatient. "Don't you have an answer, Mr. Cobblepot? So is it true that you plan to use the Narrows together with--"

"Shhh!" He raised both hands, which made the woman lower her brows in angry consternation. But Oswald paid little to no attention to politeness at that moment, for he saw four heavily armed policemen enter the building and position themselves at the entrances like security guards. _What had happened!?_

"If this is an attempt to change the sub--"

" _Would you_ **_please_ **_be_ _quiet for a moment!_ " He thought he could hear the scraps of a conversation between Tarquin and one of the policemen, so now he rose to better be able to read their lips.

"Mr. Cobblepot, sit down! Or are you trying to flee because there is a truth to the rumors?"

Oswald was startled. He had heard the words 'Arkham' and then 'Jerome Valeska.' No. Could it be? Now of all times?!

"Mr. Cobblepot, is this a confession you want to make to all the people?"

He clenched his hands into fists. _To hell with the people!_

Margaret Hearst also jumped up from her chair in horror when suddenly several shots rang out and the loud stomping of a roaring crowd approached City Hall.

One of the four police officers stepped forward. "Please remain calm. We have the situation under control."

"What happened?" Oswald now asked the officer and gave Tarquin a stern look.

"Your Honor... the police are already attending to this. About an hour ago, Jerome Valeska fled Arkham Asylum with several other inmates."

"Move!" Oswald squeezed past Tarquin and the many bystanders, hurried out of City Hall and aleady saw from afar a chaotic mass of Arkham Asylum inmates, breaking through the streets of Gotham like a tsunami, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. He turned right, jumped to the driver's door of the limousine, which had apparently been left open in panic by his chauffeur, and drove away. He urgently needed to get home. Under no circumstances could he leave Martin alone now. He also had to tell Edward.

But first he called Fish to ask if she was at his house. As it turned out, Fish had been on a new search for Professor Strange together with Freeze and Firefly and was not back yet. Next he called Edward, but he didn't pick up, so he sent him a message instead and then called the Van Dahl mansion. But there too, no one picked up, which only made Oswald more panicky. He informed Victor and asked him to gather reinforcements and then come to the mansion as well.

There was no unknown car in the driveway. Nevertheless, Oswald left the engine running and threw himself out of the car, storming into the interior with bumpy steps.

" **Martin? Olga? - Ivy?** " He staggered through the entrance, clutching the walking stick, which he did not use for walking after all, but rather held it against himself as some kind of defense weapon.

When he turned into the dining room and saw Martin and lvy sitting at the table, he sighed with relief. Immediately he rushed towards them, noticed too late how they tried to make him understand with facial expressions and gestures that he should stay away and was finally knocked down by two strangers, fell to the floor moaning and bleeding from the back of his head.

The sound of heavy boots made him raise his eyes and even though his vision was a little blurred, he quickly recognized who was kneeling in front of him, grinning. Anyone in Gotham would recognize this stitched-on mug.

"Look what little birdie flew right into the trap." He glanced up briefly at the two Arkham escapees who had knocked down Oswald. "Almost too easy. But whatever. I've heard a lot of things about you, Oswald, and _I have to say_ , I'm a big fan. So let's be good friends, huh? Because there's something you can help me with." He cackled, a cackling that made Oswald's blood run cold in his veins.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the clown fun can begin :]


	22. The end of old order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome Valeska, his name, his face, his laugh - the mayor would never be able to forget this man. And now he was in his mansion.

Chapter 22

**The end of old order**

When Edward woke up from a restless sleep, it was already pitch black outside. He was soaked with sweat and his limbs felt leaden. What time was it? He had only wanted to lie down for a few hours so that he would not look too savaged when Oswald came to visit him here in the Narrows after his interview. From now on Edward could finally breathe again. He had managed to reduce the generator's weapons capability to the point of uselessness, and just a few hours after the power supply was restored, there was no longer any doubt about his rule over the Narrows. One word from him was enough to silence entire halls; people came to him seeking advice and asking him to uphold the Narrows' tradition and let the residents continue their solitary and brutal lives. At the moment, he still enjoyed the latter, especially since these people were really willing to participate in _everything_ as long as they were promised a big profit, but in the future he would have to change their attitude if he wanted to prevent the Narrows from swarming with chaotic violence. Although he had a penchant for a little chaos, Oswald preferred order above all else. And, of course, the long-time king of the underworld was right: order was good for business.

Without rising from the hard mattress of the folding bed, he grabbed his wristwatch, holding it close enough to his face to be able to read the hands with narrowed eyes, which were difficult to see in the darkness, especially due to his shortsightedness. The watch revealed to him that it was already past 21 o'clock. Skeptical, Edward brushed over his sleep paralyzed eyes several times, then held the watch even closer and finally turned it with his glasses on his nose in the direction of the incoming moonlight, but the time did not change. Had Oswald had a change of mind? Had the interview perhaps not gone in his favor? Or had the unlikely case occurred that it had been extended and Oswald was therefore still on his way?

Anxiety made his stomach feel queasy, his heartbeat was so audible, so heavy in the absolute silence of his terror that he felt as if he was being shaken on the mattress, and his chest was tight as if trapped by a fishing rope. There was certainly a logical explanation for Oswald's absence! And it was certainly not one of those which, at that very moment, haunted Edward's mind and placed his ex-boyfriend, deformed by the most horrible wounds, on the autopsy table of a semi-professional medical examiner.

Searching for his cell phone, he swept his arm across the widely gaping floorboards. At times he should probably look for a more appropriate residence for a king, a place where he could welcome Oswald, who was certainly already on his way here and whose arrival was merely delayed by bad traffic, without shame.

He smiled at the thought of Oswald throwing a tantrum right now and blaming the chauffeur for their late arrival in the Narrows, while he turned on his cell phone's display. The bright light made him squint his eyes, he blinked several times and sat up in bed. The scratchy rope around his chest tightened when he saw that he had received a message from Oswald – over an hour ago.

\---

"Put him there," Oswald heard Jerome Valeska say, as if through a closed door. His vision was black, his body strangely heavy and numb, and yet he had the sensation of floating. He bumped hard against something and soon after heard a creaking sound and felt warm breath on his face, the smell of garlic, soy and a pungent whiff of this cheap toothpaste, which he remembered from his Arkham days, and which made you feel like it would burn the enamel from your teeth – that is if you used it for your teeth, since its consistency was more like hair gel or vaseline with a tiny splash of mint.

"That's really disappointing...", Jerome grumbled and snapped his fingers several times next to Oswald's ears. "I had hoped for a little more – I don't know – _bite_ from you. Especially after you foiled my first escape plan by kidnapping Mr. Tetch. _That_ was downright nasty."

Only when Oswald felt a gush of cold water splashing against his face did he even realize that he had probably fainted earlier. He gasped, tore open his eyelids to see Jerome in front of him, half leaning on the tabletop, a dirty grin on his face, an empty glass in his hand. "Welcome back, pal." He put the glass to the side and then leaned down towards Oswald, who could not take his eyes off the scar bulges on his forehead. "Now let's talk about what I want."

"You don't seriously believe that I’d work with _you_ , do you?" Oswald spat, withstanding the predatory gaze of the man in front of him, at least outwardly, who now, after a brief, unimpressed raising of the eyebrows, pushed himself away from the table and strolled through the dining room in played thoughtfulness.

"That's a real pity. I had such high hopes for you, my feathered friend. But perhaps it is true what they say." He had stopped at the long end of the table, right behind Martin and Ivy, now leaned forward right between them, to speak the next words with a wicked grin in Oswald's direction. "Family changes a man." A brief silence ensued, in which Oswald clenched his teeth and Jerome's grin grew even wider. " _Right?_ "

Ivy gasped for breath with a shrill sound when Jerome suddenly put his hands on her and Martin's shoulders. "I heard you'd recently become a father. _Congratulations_. They grow up so fast, don't they?" With a loud lip-smacking, Jerome turned his head first to Martin, then to Ivy. He finally stuck with her, eyeballed her extensively, while Ivy grimaced in a mixture of disgust and fear. "And? Is your child by any chance present? Hmm... I guess you're a little too old to be the offspring of little Oswald here." He turned back to Martin. The boy lowered his head between his trembling shoulders while tears ran from his eyes. Jerome Valeska was like a nightmare come true, with his scarred grimace and the gray rings under his eyes. "Then maybe you, huh? Say, kid, what's your name?"

"Don't you dare lay a finger on him!" Oswald spat, had jumped up from his chair and was already scanning the immediate surroundings for a weapon, which he found in form of his cane. Under Jerome's raised eyebrow, he grabbed the cane, pulled its handle, thus revealing a hidden blade, which he pointed threateningly at Jerome.

At the sight of the blade, the corners of Jerome's mouth were immediately lifted and a brutal desire blazed in his eyes. As if in wild anticipation, the next words gushed from his lips. "What are you going to do with that? **Stab me** – no, no, too dull – let's see… **cut off my face** – no, no, we had that already--"

"I'll make you eat your own fingers if you hurt him!"

Jerome remained frozen for a moment, as if he was considering this possibility, but then he giggled enthusiastically. "You _are_ one of us! I knew I was right about you!"

When Oswald then growled, Jerome took his hands off Martin and Ivy's shoulders in played fear, lifting them up into the air with a devilish grin. "I am not a child killer – at least... not that I know of." He leaned over to Martin once more. "But in killing parents..." At a hand signal from him, the two Arkham escapees stepped forward, grabbed the gasping Oswald firmly by the shoulders, who was having a hard time asserting himself against both, and tore the blade from his fingers before they pushed him back into the chair. »... I already have some experience. Just so you know, in case you need a helping hand someday." He winked at Martin, who, however, kept his anxious gaze fixed on his father.

But then Jerome seemed to have a sudden change of heart, as he pulled a jackknife out of his back pocket and very slowly unfolded it. "But such cheesy family bonds make me sick. Wanna know what my life was like at your age, kid? I'll tell you..." He let the knife rotate, moving it slowly towards Martin, who whimpered and tried to back off, but was grabbed by his arm. " _Ah, ah,_ hold still, will you?"

Oswald tried again to fight his way up from the chair, but was easily held in place by the loony's two henchmen.

"Nobody wants to hear your stupid family story," Ivy suddenly exclaimed. She had grabbed a bulbous vase from a nearby chest of drawers and wanted to pull it over Jerome's head, but he evaded her attack with an amused sound and now changed the aim of his knife on her. That was the moment when Oswald finally realized that he had somehow grown fond of Ivy in the last few days, because he made a panicked grimace and begged inwardly for a way out of this horror trip.

Ivy recoiled as Jerome swung the knife at her with a wicked grin, screamed out as the thin tip lightly scratched her neck. Immediately she grasped the cut with her hand while Jerome struck a second time. But the knife could not harm her, since at that moment it was hit by a jet of ice and Jerome was so surprised by the burning cold that he dropped it. All eyes now turned to the back entrance where, besides Victor Fries, Firefly and Fish were standing. The latter had a superior smile on her lips, uttered a satisfied "Not so fast", while Jerome curled his nostrils more in indignation than anger and finally turned away from the newcomers to face the room instead.

"Who's that? I didn't invite her, did I?" he asked casually, more like the host of a party than a trespassing psychopath. Oswald, on the other hand, emitted a relieved gasp.

Fish, who couldn't stand it if someone didn't know her, stomped forward, thus getting Jerome's attention again before she spoke with a snarl: "I am _Fish Mooney, bitch._ "

"Fish Mooney..." The smile on Jerome's lips returned, broad and grimacing, and he lowered his voice to a playful whisper. "That does ring a bell."

Under the threatening presence of Freeze and Firefly, Jerome's henchman and he could be tied up.

"This was easier than expected," said Fish with a smug glance towards the captives. "Then the planning with Zsasz had not been necessary at all."

"Victor? Where the hell is he?", Oswald asked, audibly irritated. He had called Victor before his arrival at the mansion, and it usually took the Hitman less than half an hour to show up with reinforcements.

"We had expected more resistance, and in case Freeze and Firefly weren't enough, Zsasz wanted to get weapons with more _boom_." She lowered her gaze to Jerome with a degrading blink of an eye, who responded with a dirty grin. "But for the clown, two seniors with mouse guns would have done the job. Huh. Would you rather hand him over to the police, or..." She clicked her tongue and then smiled sinisterly.

Oswald returned her smile, but put a pinch of malicious glee in his features. " _Of course_ I will turn him over to the police and _of course_ I will gladly accept Captain Bullock's gratitude for saving the city from him."

Fish emitted a conspiratorial snort before she approached Jerome, leaning slightly down before him. "You haven't by any chance seen a certain Professor Dr. Strange in the last few days, have you?" She stretched out her arm. "About this high, bald, approaching his fifties, wearing a pair of ludicrous round glasses."

Jerome pretended to be brooding, making his eyes circle dramatically long. "Hmm, _perhaps_. I'm really bad with faces, though." He shook his head as if he was scolding himself.

Growling at his clownish reaction, Fish slapped him with the back of her hand, leaving two scratch marks on his cheek with her sharp artificial nails. "Maybe this will help you remember."

But Jerome only seemed surprised for a few seconds. He quickly regained his big grin. "Do that again, will you? _I'm into it_ ," he replied in a dirty amusement that made Fish stomp away with a snort.

Meanwhile, Oswald had stumbled to Ivy with visible restraint. With a grateful smile, she had just received a small white medicine case that Martin had fetched from the kitchen. Since he had once accidentally cut his finger while cooking with Olga, he knew where the medicine case stood and that he could reach it with a chair and on tiptoe.

Ivy smiled warmly when she saw Oswald standing at a short distance from her. He was leaning on his cane and chewed absently on his lower lip.

"Fish got here just in time, huh?"

"Thanks for protecting Martin when I couldn't." Oswald nodded several times as if to encourage himself to say these words. He was ashamed that he had not managed to protect his son himself, but also incredibly relieved that nothing had happened to him thanks to Ivy. He was also glad that Ivy herself had not suffered any serious wounds, but he would probably keep that to himself out of pride. "I am in your debt. If there is anything I can offer you in return..."

He stopped speaking when Ivy emitted a loud laugh. " _Gosh_ , what are you babbling about, Pengy? Family members don't owe each other. They help each other because they want to. _Because they're family._ " She giggled, then leaned over to Oswald to tap the tip of his nose. "Have you forgotten that again, silly?"

Although Oswald actually felt he had just been demoted from Ivy to a child again, he let her get away with it once, without reacting irritably, because she had saved Martin's life. He just wrinkled his nose slightly and squeezed his eyelids together while Ivy hopped past him giggling and carrying the medicine case in one hand.

He was just thinking about calling Edward and giving him the all-clear after the panicky text message from earlier when loud screams rang out and shortly after Firefly appeared in the doorway. She had stepped outside the Van Dahl mansion after Jerome Valeska's capture, to stand guard together with two of Fish's men who had already been waiting there. Freeze, on the other hand, had stayed in the house and kept an eye on the captives.

"What is going on? What happened, Firefly?" Fish asked alarmed, whereupon Firefly replied with a raised flamethrower and an empty expression: "From friend to foe, from royal servant to slayer, kill everyone except for the mayor."

"Down!" exclaimed Fish immediately when she saw Firefly's hand cramping around the trigger of her flamethrower. Since Ivy had only narrowed her eyebrows at first, Oswald had to pull her down with him, and he also grabbed Martin and protected him with his body, while a jet of flame roared through the dining room. The fire would have almost reached the wallpaper if it had not been intercepted and pushed back by a jet of ice. Freeze was able to counteract it.

"Why is she attacking us?!" asked Ivy stunned as she tried to protect herself from the hot and cold collision with her hands above her head.

"If only I knew...," growled Fish, who had crawled behind the table to Oswald, Ivy and Martin.

"I have a bad premonition," Oswald crunched, peeking over the table top to the door frame, where indeed Jervis Tetch appeared at that very moment, a smug grin on his lips.

He let his gaze wander once around the room, saw the Mexican standoff between Freeze and Firefly, and finally the tied up Arkham escapees behind Freeze.

"Good work, Firefly," he praised as he stepped over the threshold. When she noticed that Tetch was stepping to Jerome and his accomplices to possibly free them, Fish jumped from the ground growling, but was stopped at the point of speaking by someone whose voice emanated loudly and almost echoed from under his mask. "I wouldn't do that unless you wanna experience a horrible nightmare."

All except Freeze and Firefly now turned to the man who held one arm towards Fish. On his wrist you could see the muzzle of some weapon that disappeared with a hose under his tattered brown coat. On his head he wore a mask that resembled a patch-overgrown sack, from which two hoses grew at the corners of his mouth. Only his eyes were exposed and you could see that he wore black make-up under the mask, which made his snow-white sclerae stand out like pop-eyes. While he had attached the still indeterminate weapon to his left arm, he swung a thin scythe in his right hand. One might have mistaken him for a cursed scarecrow that, having come to life, had freed itself from its stick and was now craving for blood.

Fish snorted, but did nothing to stop Tetch from walking past Freeze and Firefly to free the ecstatically giggling Jerome and his two helpers from their bonds. "That, gentlemen, was right on time," said Jerome as he rose from the floor and, in a playful pomposity, straightened his clothes.

"Mr. Crane and I followed the task that you had asked."

"Huh? What did you find out? Where did he hole up?" Jerome demanded with a hint of annoyance on his face.

Jervis cleared his throat. "I must confess that we had no success – _at least not under the name you proclaimed._ "

Something flashed in Jerome's eyes. "He got himself a new name?" He clicked his tongue and didn't close his lips when he continued speaking. "That's clever- _ish_... I guess. So, what does he call himself now?"

"I learned from your uncle that Xander Wilde is the name that after his flight he obtained. And you'll be delighted to hear that he was the mayor's engineer." Jervis had a dirty grin on his face while Jerome raised his eyebrows in amazement.

" _Really?_ " When Jervis nodded twice quickly at the question with big doggy eyes, a broad grin carved into Jerome's face and he lowered his gaze piercingly on Oswald. "What a _funny coincidence_. Good work."

Hands folded behind his back, Jerome was just about to make his way to Oswald when his gaze fell on Freeze and Firefly, none of whom had yet given up. He pointed at both and turned to Tetch, "Huh ... is there any option to turn this off? Makes it difficult to know if you're burning hot or freezing cold. But I must say: some _very interesting abilities._ I see potential" He pursed his lips enthusiastically.

Tetch immediately took care of getting Firefly, who was under his hypnosis, to stop, while the two Arkham escapees tied Victor up and took his weapon.

"Actually, I just came here to get you on board with my idea, but it looks like you can also help me in other ways, pal," Jerome grinned, amusedly letting his little jackknife pop open as he slowly approached Oswald, who was still crouching behind the table, Ivy and Martin in his back.

But Jerome didn't get very far, because Fish was suddenly in his way. "I've seen guys like you come and go in Gotham. Never did any of you last long. You wanna know why? Because you are missing something very important: you are nothing but madmen. You have no real purpose, no reason. And while that can be an advantage in the beginning, it prevents you from getting organized and growing stronger, and will inevitably lead to you being caught and taken back to the funny farm – _where you will rot among your own kind._ " She had spoken the last part with a growl, had leaned threateningly forward to Jerome, who welcomed this and now also leaned forward a bit, an amused grin on his lips.

"You're missing something...", he eyed her slowly and extensively, which made Fish raise her upper lip in disgust, " _Gorgeous_ , these... knick-knacks would only affect me if I were just a simple man, but I am more than a man, I am _an idea, a philosophy._ " He leaned forward a little further, the grin so wide that it was almost comic-like, and Fish closed her eyes when she smelled his warm breath. "You can't lock me up."

He returned to an upright position, waving his hands in front of Fish's face. "And now... _shoo!_ I don't wanna talk to you, I wanna talk to _Oswald_."

"You won't tell me what to do, Ginger," replied Fish instead in a biting voice.

Jerome hissed in appreciation. " _Uh,_ feisty. And I do owe you for that slap earlier...", towards the end his voice had turned into a dark purr.

An animalistic mood suddenly lay in the room. Jerome and Fish stared each other in the eyes, waiting, considering each other's movements. As Jerome briefly let his eyes wander to Oswald as he pulled a throwing knife from his pants with nimble movements, Fish saw an opportunity. She also pulled out a knife behind her back and wanted to plunge it into Jerome's chest from below, but the latter noticed it in time to stop her attack and ultimately engage her in a struggle for dominance.

" **Fries – now!** " shouted Fish, and Victor, although tied up, reacted. He dropped something behind his back and as it rolled out between his legs, right in front of Tetch, Crane, the two Arkham escapees and the hypnotized Firefly, the men realized it was a grenade. But he would not be known as Mr. Freeze if this had been an ordinary grenade. Fearing the explosion, the four men recoiled, and when the grenade ignited in a bang of ice, they were all locked together with Firefly behind a thick wall of ice that stretched across half the room – a new gadget he had recently perfected.

Fish, who could see that Victor's effort had succeeded, turned to Oswald and the children, moaning in agony. "What are you waiting for!? **Run!** "

Oswald's mouth was wide open. He saw the situation before his eyes, saw at least in theory what was happening there, yet his mind could not process what it meant. But he knew that he had to get Martin out of here, so he grabbed his son and also the fear-frozen Ivy by the wrist and pulled them both with him towards the exit. He was startled, squealed loudly when a jet of flame flashed directly in front of his nose. He immediately pushed Martin and Ivy back to the wall, where he protected them with his body.

Guided by the hypnotist's words, Firefly had burned a hole through the ice wall and cut Oswald's escape route at the last moment. Jerome grinned contentedly, while Fish, who was already covered in beads of sweat from exertion, snorted. "Damn..."

Gripped by nervousness, she looked back at Oswald; a tiny moment of weakness that Jerome did not let slip away.

"You're really starting to irritate me...", he grumbled and used all his remaining strength to push Fish away from him and then, before she could lunge at him again, thrust the knife under her ribs.

She gasped throatily for air, pressing a hand on the rapidly opening bleeding, while Jerome giggled and took several steps back, as if he wanted to look at his work from a distance like an artist.

" **Fish!** " Oswald rushed forward, just catching Fish as she fell backwards, preventing her from hitting the ground hard. Her hand still pressed against her wound, her face pale and her lips trembling and hastily sucking in the air, she lay in his arms, while his face also grew whiter and whiter and he put a hand on her cheek in disbelief. "No..." His voice resembled a squeak and he pulled up his nose several times loudly while his eyes filled with tears. Ivy had also begun to cry, held a hand in front of her mouth in stunned silence and sank to her knees next to Martin, while the boy, in shock, cramped his hand in her dress.

"Os-wald..." Fish croaked. You could hear the strain in every syllable, and she had taken her hand from her bleeding to press it onto Oswald's wet cheek instead, forcing the crying man to bend down deeper towards her. "Li... listen-- care...fully..." She swallowed heavily, had closed her eyelids in pain.

"Fish..." Oswald sniveled, then bent down enough that Fish could whisper into his ear in a weak, faint voice. She somehow managed to say what she needed to say to him before her hand fell from his cheek, leaving a bloody trace on the porcelain-colored skin. Her eyes had drifted into nothingness. Her breath stopped. "No. No. **No!** "

Oswald whimpered, pursed his lips sobbing, and then bedded his forehead on hers, before closing his eyes and pausing over her as if in prayer, while his tears fell down on her lifeless skin. Jerome watched the whole thing with brows raised in surprise.

" _Wow_ , that really got to you, huh buddy?" He spoke it with complete incomprehension and then made some wild hand movements, playing the unsettled, although a slight smile was hidden in the corner of his mouth. "Were you two somehow... you know-", he had two fingers crossed, " _close?_ "

When Oswald raised his head again and looked up at Jerome, his tear-red eyes were filled with a determined cruelty. " _You will pay for this!_ " he spat, whereupon Jerome playfully raised both hands.

"Hey, hey, hey – hold on a minute. _She_ started it." He followed this with a shrill laugh before slowly approaching Oswald, pulling out the small jackknife again and turning it with an eerie ecstasy in the light of the dining room chandelier. Arriving in front of the snarling Oswald, he placed the cool blade under his chin, forcing him to lift his face further. "How 'bout we start talking about what I want, huh?"

Oswald merely hissed in reply, whereupon Jerome let his gaze glide up briefly and then spoke with a beginning smile: "Grab the kid and... whoever the other one is," while he lowered his eyes back down on Oswald.

Oswald turned his head in panic and watched as Martin and Ivy were seized by Crane and Tetch. "No!" As he tried to struggle up from the floor, Jerome pushed him back down to the floorboards with ease.

"It's time to start singing, birdie. _Where. Is. **Xander. Wilde**_ **?** " He choked the name out like a slimy lump.

"Xander Wilde..." Oswald let the name go through his head. Wasn't that the engineer from Meyer & Hayes who had designed the generators? "I-I don't know where he is. We never spoke in person."

Jerome glanced at him with a look of absolute disbelief. Finally, he snapped his fingers. "Kill the woman first, then the brat."

"No, wait!"

Crane and Tetch paused and Jerome looked down at Oswald, who was so stressed he could only make a few pressed noises at first. 

"Give me a chance to find him!"

Jerome tilted his head. "What makes you so sure you can pull this off?"

"I... I am good at gathering information – it is... a talent of mine," Oswald replied in a stumbling voice.

"Huh..." Jerome let his jackknife swing back and forth threateningly. "And how much time you want me to give you?"

"Twenty-four hours. I promise I'll--"

He was interrupted in his speech when Jerome burst out into a shrill laughter. He laughed as if Oswald had just made a joke, and then dramatically brushed his eyes. "Twenty-four hours?! In that time I can find him myself..." He hinted to one of the Arkham escapees to hand him the brass-plated dial phone, which stood next to the sofa on a side table. He put it down in front of Oswald with a lip-smacking, while the second escapee plugged in the telephone cable, which had apparently been disconnected until now. "I'll tell you something, pal. You will get exactly _one_ call. Whoever you call has _two_ hours to bring Xander Wilde to me alive. When that time is up and Xander Wilde hasn't arrived, I'm gonna kill all of you one by one – starting with the boy. Okay?" He grinned broadly as if this was an absolutely fair offer – if he weren't a lunatic, he would have made an excellent insurance agent.

Oswald stared down at the phone, which was his last hope. With what Fish had told him before she died, it was necessary for him to stall for time and give Jerome what he wanted. He had to make sure that nothing happened to Martin and Ivy before the time came.

"Deal," he therefore replied with a sweet smile and picked up the phone. He dialed the number of the only man he knew who had any chance of actually meeting Jerome's terms.

As the phone rang, his fake smile faded into a nervous grimace and he shifted impatiently on the floor. A brief static sound finally released him from his panic.

"Oswald?!"

"Ed."

Edward sighed loudly. "I was worried. You didn't answer your cell phone and I couldn't get through to our home line. I was just on my way to my car to search for you."

"Ed... I need you to listen to me very carefully now."

It got quiet for a second. Edward heard the tension in Oswald's voice, which mixed into his words as a slight staggering. "What happened, Oswald?"

"You must find someone for me. His name is Xander Wilde. He's the one who designed the new generators. He works as an engineer for Meyer and Hayes. But no one's ever talked to him there in person. Instead, his associate named Ecco handles everything for him."

"I promise I will find him. But what for?"

"You have two hours. When you have found him, bring him – alive – to the mansion. _I'm counting on you, Ed._ " Oswald didn't even wait for an answer, hung up immediately.

"And you are positive that this 'Ed' can find him?" Jerome asked, while Jervis took the phone out of Oswald's reach.

"He is the smartest man I know."

"A'ight. If you say so, buddy~" Jerome grabbed a dining room chair, sat down backwards, with his face to Oswald and propped his chin on the backrest. "Well, that gives us another two hours to have a little fun, huh?"

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that Edward didn't have much "screen time" in this chapter. The next one will be mostly about him.  
> Yeah... I hope no one is too sad about Fish's death - I mean, she died in the series, too, but under entirely different circumstances. Maybe it was a lazy decision of me, but I needed her death in order to prevent her from becoming a nuisance for Oswald as soon as he starts putting efforts into the Narrows to maximize his underworld profit. She would never accept second place and never truuuly share the first place, so I killed her off :/


	23. On the trail of Xander Wilde Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Oswald is being held by Jerome and must wait for an opportunity to escape, Edward begins his hunt for Xander Wilde and gets the help of people he would rather not have help from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, beautiful people, I know I was away for a long time (mainly because I was working a lot on my university assignment and often had headaches. Grrrr) Anyway, now I got two chapters for you! It was supposed to be one... but then I saw that it was going to be 10,000 words long and I thought, I can't do that to anyone. So I split it into two chapters. The first one you get today. The second one will be on Thursday or Friday (because I still have to add a certain scene). Can I soothe your anger with this? :(

Chapter 23

**On the trail of Xander Wilde Part 1**

"You are the greatest spies in all of Gotham. You have eyes and ears everywhere. I depend upon your skills. Whoever tells me who Xander Wilde is and how he's connected to Jerome Valeska will receive..." Edward revealed the prize, which he had hidden under a red velvet cloth, "'Antarctica – its flora, fauna and geographical characteristics', _in five volumes._ " He had spent the last few days devouring this masterpiece of encyclopedic knowledge, possibly because it gave him a warm feeling to read about penguins and their habitat, and his longing for Oswald was a little less painful when he could imagine in his head telling his ex-boyfriend all the new things he had learned about his animal relative.

The teenagers he had spoken to – swift and cheeky little monkeys whose upbringing in the Narrows had robbed them of all the skills needed to live a normal life in an orderly society, but who were, for that very reason, born thieves, tricksters, and spies – did not seem particularly enthusiastic about the wordy price, which in their eyes was not so much an item of entertainment as cheap firewood.

Edward internally rolled his eyes in the face of so much ignorance towards accumulated knowledge and then pulled out his wallet, placed it symbolically on top of the books. "And fifty bucks."

Immediately, a loud cheering went through the room and the floor vibrated as everyone jumped up at the same time to leave the room towards the exit. Their enthusiasm finally gave Edward a fleeting smile before he turned to a second group, mostly adults, standing around a table to the right of the exit.

"We have no time to waste. The GCPD may have their hands full with the Arkham breakout, but I still can't risk them jeopardizing this mission. That's where you come in." He pointed to the map, which stretched across the entire tabletop and presented a satellite view of Gotham Downtown. "I will leave the Narrows at this point here. The cops stationed there are third-rate at best. Idiots who stumble when they tie their shoes. Your job will be to use a diversion to lure them from their post on my signal. Can you do this?"

Those around him nodded confidently and Edward began to roll up the map. "We will leave at once. Oh, and another thing-" he spoke directly to a teenage girl who was known within the Narrows for her acrobatic skills, her stealth, but also her kleptomania. "I want you to make your way to the mayor's mansion and find out what's happening there. If the opportunity arises: help him. Otherwise: stay undercover and let me know what's going on inside." He handed her a simple cell phone in which he had stored his number.

The teenager looked at it from all sides and then wrinkled her nose as if she had just decided that it was worth less than a lump of coal. With a roguish smile, she finally looked up at Edward again. "What is the reward?" Her movements were quick and jerky like that of a cage hen, her voice swaying between a hoarse hiss and a high-pitched squeak.

"I assume you have something specific in mind."

She leaned forward slightly, grinning, and breathed the sentence through her front teeth. "It should sparkle. Pretty stone, jewelry, gems."

"Deal."

The teenager indicated a bow before leaving the room to prepare for her task.

"The mayor? Why should we help this man? He looks down on us. People like him booze and feast happily with their money, while we have to fight for our survival. He has done nothing for us since he took office! For him we are third class people! Sewer rats! At least _we_ are honest and don't lie about our criminal businesses like that greedy Penguin!" Unanimous approval followed.

" _Enough_!" Ed warned, "After this mission is over, we should have a serious talk about Penguin. In the meantime, get one thing into your heads: Oswald has done more for the Narrows than you can imagine."

The people had fallen silent before their leader, who gave them one last stern glance before he too left the room, one hand pressed against his temple. Since he had taken the last pill yesterday, he suffered from dizziness and headaches, his body already rebelling against going cold turkey from the drugs.

\---

"Don't move," Jerome grumbled with a throwing knife in his hand and then grinned sadistically. "You don't want me to miss and slit your pretty pale skin, do ya?"

Oswald gasped for air, tried to control his trembling and pressed his eyes shut. He was tied with a rope around his chest to the tabletop, which Jerome's helpers had leaned against the wall as a temporary target and painted small circles containing different numbers from 5 to 20 around Oswald with a black felt pen. He squealed loudly when he felt the sharp wind and the throwing knife became stuck in the wood just left to his face.

Jerome threw his arms in the air, cheering. "Sixty points! And not a scratch yet."

Oswald was increasingly relieved about the latter, for he was now surrounded by four throwing knives. One next to his face, one each to the left and right of his hip and one between his slightly open legs. How much he wished Edward was now here to distract him from his panic by explaining him the physics of knife throwing or something. All Oswald could think of right now was that he might soon have one of these things between his eyes.

Moreover, he was anxious because Freeze, Ivy and Martin were no longer in the same room. Tetch had given the hypnotized Firefly the task of taking the three upstairs and guarding them before he and Crane had disappeared. Since then he had neither seen nor heard from them.

"Why aren't you laughing? This is supposed to be fun," cried Jerome and giggled madly through his bared teeth.

" _Fun?_ You're a maniac, without the last shred of decency in your body," Oswald crunched, causing Jerome to throw his head back in disbelief.

"Oh come on, Oswald, old buddy old pal, as if you wouldn't have any fun in my place. See, we are not so different, you and I. And besides...", he spread his arms, "there is something good inside every man – _even if it's just a knife._ " A resounding laughter followed and Oswald squeezed his lids shut again in panic when the fifth knife carved into the tabletop just above his head.

"Mr. Valeska?," Oswald spoke up in a strained voice, while Jerome raised the sixth knife, which one of his two henchmen had handed him on a cushion.

"Shh. I have to focus here."

"W-what are you planning to do with Xander Wilde? How do you even know each other?"

Jerome paused in the throwing position for a moment, brooded, and finally returned to an upright position. "Huh... should I tell him? _Ah_ ", he shrugged his shoulders, " _what the hell._ Why not? I mean, what can you do with that information anyway, eh?" He threw the knife once like a juggler, caught it skillfully on the handle. "I mean, either _Xander's_ not here in two hours and I kill you, or he's here and then you see for yourself – well, unless of course he's not only got himself a new name, but also a fancy new face with that fancy shitload of money he's got thanks to his lies." Jerome snorted contemptuously, then rotated the knife between his thumb and forefinger and bridged the few steps that separated him from Oswald, to lean forward to him, one hand loudly slammed against the tabletop. "Lemme tell you what kind a guy this _Xander Wilde_ is." He smacked his lips. "Something our whore mother never knew about her little Mr. Perfect."

Oswald's eyes widened upon those words. They were brothers.

"One day he came to me while I was cleaning up the elephant dung – as I was always forced to – and told me he had seen Mr. Strong drowning a dog behind the tent. So I went behind the tent and meanwhile he ran bawling to our mother, telling her that I had killed the mutt and threatened to drown him as well. That's _Xander Wilde_ for you." The corners of Jerome's mouth suddenly fell and there was actually something like sadness in his eyes. "So then our mother called uncle Zach and the only educational measures uncle Zach knew were beating, torture, and more beating. Until I couldn't feel the pain anymore... and nobody ever helped me. Never." Silence fell, and for seconds Jerome stared into space before giggling out loud. Maybe the laughter was just a defense mechanism to better endure the agony of his own fate, but Oswald definitely wasn't in the mood to develop sympathy for this maniac.

He forced himself to smile, but it looked cramped and nervous, "So you plan to take revenge on your brother?"

Jerome raised his eyebrows in complete surprise. "Why would I wanna do that, pal?"

"But--"

"I am not a planner, just an agent of chaos. I merely do the next best thing that comes to my mind." He smiled devilishly. "And right now I feel like finding out if penguins can fly if you throw them hard enough."

He laughed in Oswald's panicked face and followed jumping while his two henchmen untied the scrawny man from the table and dragged him to the second floor. Oswald's screaming and his squirming were completely useless against the brute force of these two gorillas in stripes.

\---

The city had sunken into a swamp of madness. Broken shop windows, fires, dead people on the side of the road or piled up on police cars. Every alleyway seemed deserted and yet one could hear screams, laughter and the ear-piercing howls of the sirens everywhere.

Before leaving the Narrows, Edward had given instructions to barricade the island's access points and set up sentries to prevent the plague of madness from crossing the bridges. Right now he was heading for the address of Allan Hayes, from whom he hoped to find the whereabouts of this 'Ecco' that Oswald had spoken about on the phone.

As he left the Diamond District for the Lower West Side, he slowed the car down. A group of arkhamescapees, about ten men strong, roamed the street with baseball bats and steel pipes in their hands, turned around when they saw his car and then came rushing toward him screaming and giggling. "I don't have time for this...," Edward muttered as he pressed the gas pedal down with a determined look, the majority of the men jumping to the side at the last moment, while two rolled onto his hood with full force, where they bounced off and fell onto the sidewalk.

It was the first time he had driven so fast that when he hit the brakes, he had the feeling that the car would slip under him. The wheels squeaked as if in pain and he almost hit the steering wheel forehead first, had to catch his breath for thirty seconds before he fought his way out of the car and climbed the steps to Allan Hayes' apartment building.

"Nygma?"

The sound of a cocked gun. "Keep your hands up where I can see 'em. Don't tell me you're working with the other freaks."

He followed the order, raised his hands and turned around on the top landing, looking down at Harvey Bullock and Jim Gordon, who both had a gun on him. "My two favorite policemen." He smiled. "What brings you to this particular place?"

"I wanna know the same thing from you!" Harvey growled and took a step closer. "What on earth do you want from Allan Hayes?"

Edward tilted his head, lids down in contemplation. "The same as you, I suppose."

"And what's that?"

He grinned, emitting a brief superior laugh. "I am a dress everyone has, but no one wears."

"We don't have time for that shit. Give us a clear answer," Harvey growled. "There are hundreds of crazy people running round Gotham on a killing spree. The last thing I wanna do right now is play quiz show with you, _putz_."

Unlike him, Jim had started to brood, finally bending down to the sidewalk and picking up a letter from the floor, which had probably got lost in all the chaos. He turned it so that both Harvey and Edward could see the handwritten front page. "It's an address."

Harvey gawked in disbelief. Sometimes he wondered if Jim was just making this stuff up, or if his partner was really that smart.

Edward, on the other hand, smiled contentedly and, moving both forefingers in circles through the air, gave a purred " _correct_ ".

"Whose address? Xander Wilde's?"

Edward clicked his tongue. "So we _are_ looking for the same man. The question is, why are _you_ looking for him?"

"To protect him." Jim and Harvey exchanged glances before the detective stepped forward, with both hands on his hips, sighing. "About an hour ago, the GCPD was under attack by Jonathan Crane. He had gathered an army of lunatics and attacked police officers with fear gas. But when Jervis Tetch suddenly showed, we realized that the sole purpose of his attack was to keep us busy. I was able to trick Jervis into giving us the name 'Xander Wilde' before they both fled the scene."

When Edward remained silent and brooded, Jim raised his eyebrows in a demanding manner. "Now you."

"Jerome Valeska – and, judging by your story, apparently Tetch and Crane as well – are holding Oswald prisoner in his mansion. I have an hour and a half left to bring them Xander Wilde before they'll possibly--" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Harvey whistled. "They're holding Penguin hostage? Wasn't that your job?"

Meanwhile, Jim had taken out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked distrustfully.

"If Jerome Valeska is at Oswald's place, I will send a task force there."

Immediately, Edward had pulled a pistol from his waistband. "You'll do no such thing, _Jimbo_! I won't let you endanger Oswald's life further."

Under the watchful gaze of the pistol's muzzle, Jim flipped his cell phone shut and let it disappear back into his jacket. "Fine, but what are we gonna do instead, huh? Find Xander Wilde and hand him over?"

"Leave that to me."

"Woah, woah woah. Who tells us that what Nygma says is the truth, huh? Wouldn't be the first lie he's told us. Besides, we can still bust him for the Narrow story," Harvey suddenly interjected.

Instead of talking to him, Edward turned back towards Jim. "I wanna remind you that you have me to thank for curing you of the Tetch virus."

Jim put on a false grin. " _Gee, thanks_ ," he sarcastically breathed through his teeth.

"Oh yes, our hero," Harvey said ironically, rolling his eyes. "And what shall we do now? Help delivering an innocent man to his certain death out of gratitude?"

" _Actually_ , I prefer to work alone," Edward replied before turning to the entrance of the apartment building and disappearing through the door with the words "You'd only get in my way anyway."

Harvey made a protesting sound, then exchanged a quick glance with Jim before putting his gun back into its holster, after which they both followed Nygma with quick steps.

They were just standing in the hallway and Harvey was complaining loudly that he couldn't believe they were working with that freak again when Jim stopped him with one hand raised and the other pointed behind them towards the front door.

"I think we are being followed."

In a stooped position he crept down the hall and slowly pulled his gun out of his belt. Harvey followed him at a distance and Edward just stood there with a watchful eye, one hand around his own weapon.

A clatter. From the stairs that led to the next floor came an empty beer can rolling down. Shortly thereafter one could hear a faint cursing.

Gordon strained his ears as he crept further towards the stairs. " _GCPD_. Come on out and we won't hurt you," he said in his resolutely sounding cop voice.

Yet both he and Harvey raised their guns a little further as someone came down the stairs on silent feet; first black boots, then black jeans, then a black wool coat with leather-covered sleeves, and a black turtleneck sweater containing Bruce Wayne, who had raised both hands in appeasement.

"Bruce..." Jim immediately lowered his gun. Both he and Harvey seemed surprised to find the billionaire boy in Allan Hayes' apartment building.

"You gave us a real fright there, kid," snorted Harvey as he put his gun back into its holster.

Because Bruce only averted his gaze in a mixture of annoyance and shame, Jim put a hand on his shoulder in a paternal manner, leaned slightly forward while speaking to the boy, who was not as small as he used to be a few years ago. "What are you doin' here, Bruce? Have you been following us?"

"I..." he struggled with the words, "thought I could help you."

"Help?" Jim's eyes spoke volumes and it really hurt Bruce not to be taken seriously by the detective.

"Listen, kid..." Harvey sighed, "You help us more if you go home now and wait for this whole pandemonium to pass. Does your butler even know that you're gone?"

"You shouldn't be out on the streets alone right now. Let me drive you home," Jim offered, then turned to Harvey. "You'll be all right alone for a while?"

"With that one?" Harvey pointed to Edward, who was still just standing there. It annoyed him that the Wayne boy had suddenly appeared; after all he had no time to waste. "I'll be fine. You take care of the kid."

But Bruce didn't want to be taken care of. When Jim tried to grab him by the shoulder and lead him towards the stairs, he slapped his hand away, hard enough to make his point, soft enough not to seem aggressive. "I don't need anyone to look after me. I am not a child," he said decisively.

"Nobody said that," Jim claimed, "but it's still too dangerous. I can't risk you getting hurt. Do you even know who we are dealing with?"

"Jerome Valeska – that's why I _have_ to be here." As soon as Bruce had spoken the words, he closed his lips in panic, lowered his eyes. He should not have said this. It was clear what Jim would ask now.

"Why do you _have_ to be here? Don't tell me..." Jim shook his head in disbelief. "You don't feel responsible for him, Bruce, do you?"

Bruce clenched one hand to a fist. "I had a chance to... end it. And I decided not to. If people get hurt because of Jerome, I am to blame. I have to make it right."

In the background, Edward rolled his eyes while Jim frowned and Harvey blinked in surprise.

"What could you have done? You have nothing to blame yourself for," Jim replied.

Bruce opened his mouth, but not a word came out. He could not explain it to Jim. Jim would not understand. Even Alfred did not fully understand. That's why Bruce had to sneak away from home to look for Jerome.

"What a scene. A true heartbreaker. Jimbo... Turtleneck." Edward first gave Jim, then Bruce a disparaging look, clapped three times slowly in false admiration before pointing to his wristwatch and quickly adding: "But we don't have all day."

"I hate to agree with that schmo," Harvey sighed. "But if what he just said is true and we don't hurry, we might end up with a grilled chicken for mayor."

While his statement did indeed cause Jim and Bruce to join Harvey in catching up with Edward and making their way to Allan Hayes' apartment, Edward had still looked daggers at the police captain because of the humiliating comparison.

\---

Fortunately, the 'flying lessons' quickly became boring for Jerome, because Oswald did not play along, instead he simply submitted to it. For this reason, Jerome had Oswald taken to Freeze, Ivy and Martin and now roamed the property alone and with the noise of a seven-year-old with sugar shock, to see how much bric-a-brac Oswald surrounded himself with and to draw comparisons to the mansion of Bruce Wayne. Oswald couldn't – or didn't want to – count how often he heard the sound of a breaking object, just kept squeezing his eyelids tightly together as if it was causing him physical pain.

When he returned to his prisoners, Jerome had gotten rid of his Arkham's attire and instead wore a white shirt, a dark red waistcoat with a black shawl collar, a light green bow tie with a red pepita pattern, red cufflinks, white gloves, black trousers and black leather half-boots. Most of the items came from Edward's closet, and it was only by wearing them that Oswald really noticed that Jerome and Edward were almost the same height and weight. However, perhaps he didn't want to think about it, because any resemblance between this clown and Edward made him nauseous.

"How do I look?" Jerome asked with a dirty grin. "Unfortunately I couldn't find a jacket in my size that didn't look lame. _You_ , my feathered friend, are really tiny." He turned once on his heel. "Which brings me to the question: Who does all this stuff belong to?"

"Take it off..."

"Huh? Could you repeat that one more time, pal? My ears are a bit clogged. Circus disease – you get it." Jerome put a hand to his ear pretending he hadn’t understood Oswald's words. The latter in turn was now foaming with rage.

" **Take it off!** " He had leaned over like a dog on a steel chain, growling and snarling his teeth.

Jerome smiled, bent his back slightly, eyes wide, and as he spoke his voice resembled a fascinated purr. " _Oh, pal,_ _you're giving me the heebie-jeebies._ So I guess this stuff belongs to someone important, eh?"

When Oswald merely hissed, Jerome let himself sink giggling down on the surface of the desk opposite the window – they were all in the study right now – before he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and unfolded it. "Could it belong to this _charming guy_ in the picture here?"

Oswald drew a sharp breath when he recognized Martin's drawing. "Where did you get this?!" He knew, of course, where Jerome had gotten the drawing – from Oswald's bedroom. Jerome Valeska had been inside his bedroom and had rummaged through his personal belongings. The reason that Oswald had not yet hung up the drawing, even though he already had a suitable picture frame, was that he wanted to wait until he and Edward were reunited again and until he knew whether they had a future together.

"Your bed is really soft, buddy. Nothing like the ones in Arkham." The way Jerome said it made it sound like a threat and Oswald made a grimace at the thought of this lunatic lying in his bed. "And...", Jerome drew deep air through his nose and continued in a throaty breath, "it smells of lilac and vanilla." The disgusted look on Oswald's face made Jerome burst out laughing. He leaned back further on the desk, tapping the paper in his hand twice with his index and middle finger. "But seriously, he doesn't look very competent – with this...", he moved his face back as if he had to gain a new perspective on the drawing, "crayon face and slightly crooked glasses. Did you paint that, kid?"

Martin bit his lower lip from the inside, intimidated, afraid.

"Well, I hope you're not dreaming of becoming a great artist, huh?"

While Jerome was still speaking, a loud noise was heard. A howl? A chirping? Or rather a whistle? It came from outside, wandered muffled through the windows and silenced the whole room. Mr. Freeze, next to Martin, batted his eyelids twice before he thoughtfully let his gaze wander through the room, searching for a solution, a possibility.

"You hear that too?" Jerome asked with lowered brows. He dropped the drawing, hopped off the tabletop, then turned once on his heel and strolled to the window that pointed out to the street. "Hm, no one there. That's... _strange_."

The two Arkham escapees also walked to the windows while Firefly stood with her back to the prisoners. Actually, this would have been the perfect opportunity to escape, but their hands were tied – quite literally.

"We have to take them out and get to my gun," Freeze calmly explained as he leaned over Martin towards Oswald.

" _Oh? Really? Bravo_ for this excellent idea, Mr. Logic, but there are certain obstacles _you must have forgotten about,_ " he replied sarcastically and then unsuccessfully shook his bonds – unlike the others, his hands were tied in front of his chest, not behind it.

"You're free? How did you do that," Ivy suddenly exclaimed, and as Oswald and Freeze followed her gaze towards Martin, they saw that his hands were no longer tied.

Oswald opened his lips in amazement while Freeze contentedly drew the corner of his mouth. "You remember what my freeze gun looks like, don't you?" he asked Martin, who nodded decisively.

"What? No!," Oswald interjected. "This is too dangerous!"

When a second, louder and more melodious whistle sounded, Jerome and his henchmen angrily tore open the windows of the study room, drew their pistols and began to fire randomly into the surrounding bushes.

"If we don't have my gun in ten minutes, we're going to die anyway," explained Freeze, who hadn't lost his calm analytical tone.

"W-what? Why?"

"In ten minutes, Zsasz will turn all his firepower against this house. If I had my gun, I could protect us."

"He's doing _what_!?" How could Victor think that was a good idea?!

"That was the plan. In case my weapon was taken from me and we were captured, I wanted to use one of the defensive grenades."

"And why don't you do this exactly? You must have more than one."

"After they saw I was carrying such technology, they searched my suit for more grenades. I have no more to use. My freeze gun is our only hope."

Oswald bit his lower lip and pressed his eyelids together. He did not want to, but he had to admit to himself that there was no other option but to let Martin get the gun. "You really want to do this?" He squinted at Martin, who had never looked more determined. Immediately, the boy nodded. "All right, but help us get free of our bonds first, so we can keep Jerome and his men in check. And... if you see that we can't, _run_."

Martin's eyes widened. He would never abandon his father and run away.

"Keep them in check?" Ivy swallowed, her eyes gliding panicked over everyone in the room. "W-who's handling who?"

Freezes look became cold. "I'll take care of Firefly."

Oswald wrinkled his nose. "Jerome is mine."

Ivy batted her eyelids in confusion. "H-hang on-- does that mean I have to take care of two?!" But she shouldn't get an answer, the two men on her right already too fixated on their targets. 

Although Firefly turned to them several times, gazing sternly and threatening them with her flamethrower, Martin finally managed to free Freeze, who in turn freed Ivy, while Martin loosened Oswald's bonds as quickly as he could. As soon as his father's restraints fell, they all jumped up from the floor simultaneously. Now speed was of the essence.

Freeze grabbed Firefly's flamethrower from behind, held it up towards the ceiling, and blocked her finger, which rushed for the trigger. Ivy managed to surprise one of the two Arkham prisoners, swinging her knee between his legs, but the second one built up behind her, trying to grab her, but Firefly's flamethrower, which Freeze had briefly gained control of in the fight, hit the back of his head and knocked him out. Together with Ivy, Freeze finally managed to disarm and knock out the hypnotized woman as well.

Before he could even turn around, Oswald had simply jumped onto Jerome's back from behind, tackled the man to the ground with him, who now stretched out his arms like an angry cat, tried to crawl out from under the much smaller man and reach for the gun that had slipped out of his hand in the fall. "What is it with you rich folks and gutless back-tackling?" He sounded irritated, remembering the day Bruce Wayne had jumped him in the hall of mirrors and wrestled him to the ground.

A schoolyard brawl broke out over the gun; men had become children who pushed the other and made their arms long. But when he saw out of the corner of his eye how Martin appeared in the doorway, the freeze gun in his arms, which was much too large for his small body, Oswald knocked the gun away instead of grabbing it. With a loud slide, the gun landed under the desk.

Just in time when the Arkham prisoners pulled themselves up from the floor again, groaning, Martin returned the weapon to its rightful owner, who immediately began to create an ice wall in the left corner of the room. And because no one knew what the wall was for, Oswald, Ivy, Martin and Freeze could hide behind the thick layer of ice before the last, death-defying whistle filled the air. And this time Jerome could actually see who was whistling in front of the estate.

"Hi-Ho," greeted Victor with sadistic amusement, a rocket launcher casually resting on his right shoulder. To his right and left were countless of Oswald's and his henchmen, their weapons as varied as their faces.

At a speed that would have made the Road Runner pale with envy, Jerome disappeared from the study. Just in time, before an ear-piercing rumble and a wall-shaking quake caused the whole foundation to tremble. Oswald and the others pressed themselves against the wall behind the ice, made themselves small and protected their heads from the dust that trickled down onto their crowns.

They remained there until silence returned.

Tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I hate "action scenes" :D I gotta admit. In the next chapter the search for Xander continues - with the dreamteam 2 Cops, 1 Bat and 1 Villain. And I promise you a little bit of love for the next chapter <3 a lot of love! Finally love again! Ok, that's enough now. Enough love! LOVE LOVE LOVE!  
> See you on Thursday (or Friday if I get ... "lost in translation" huehuehue)!  
> Diripio


	24. On the trail of Xander Wilde Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group around Edward continues their search for Xander Wilde, and when the moment arrives when Oswald and Edward are finally reunited, they both have things to get off their chests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so tired yesterday. I couldn't finish it. But now it's finished! So, get ready for bad puns, facts, facts, facts, GEECEEPEEDEE, everything you never wanted to know about ping pong balls and of course lots of loooove. :D

Chapter 24

**On the trail of Xander Wilde Part 2**

Of course Allan Hayes was unable to give them the number or address of Xander Wilde, but Edward, unlike the others, had known that from the beginning. They were all the more surprised when he asked for the address of his proxy Ecco, stumbled after him as he left the apartment building with the note in his hand and even followed him into his car; Gordon sat in the passenger seat, Harvey and Bruce shared the back seat.

"Stop," said Gordon as Edward was about to put the key in the ignition. "We need to talk about what we're gonna do when we find Wilde."

" _We_ , Detective? I'm doing brilliant on my own. So if you don't want to be involved in saving Oswald, you're welcome to leave."

"We'll help – but we won't deliver a man to Valeska."

Bruce leaned forward between the seats. "Who is this Xander Wilde anyway? I have a feeling I've heard that name before."

"Dude's apparently an engineer," Harvey replied. "No wonder he sounds familiar to you. He designed those fancy new high-tech generators."

"An engineer? Isn't that strange? What does Jerome want with him?"

"I dunno – maybe build a blimp or a submarine and just travel away with it, so we'll never hear from the freak again," Harvey grunted and shrugged his shoulders.

Bruce's eyes gleamed. "But for that he could have just picked any engineer. Why Xander Wilde?"

Gordon pulled out his cell phone. "Either it really has something to do with the new power generators, or Wilde may have built something else that Valeska wants to get his hands on. I'll let Alvarez know; see what he can find out about Wilde."

Edward made a tense grimace. If this was indeed about the power generators, it could pose a problem. Hopefully Oswald had the generators adequately guarded.

Ten minutes later, they were already standing in front of a gray apartment building, on the third floor on which Ecco was supposed to have her apartment. Outside the door, however, Gordon indicated to Edward and Bruce that they should wait.

"Harvey and I will handle this. _You wait here_."

" _Or else what?_ " Edward asked in a lowered voice. He would not let Jim Gordon tell him what to do, after all, he was no longer the little forensic scientist who could be pushed around.

Gordon's gaze remained hard and yet he puffed out the air aloud and once more indicated with his outstretched hand that Edward and Bruce should remain outside. "Just stay here. If she sees a criminal and Bruce Wayne, she may not want to give us the address."

He knocked twice against the door. "Miss? _GCPD_. We need to ask you a few questions about 'Xander Wilde'." When no answer came, he gave Harvey a quick glance before he pushed the door handle down and realized with surprise that the apartment was unlocked. "Miss Ecco? We're from the _GCPD_. We're coming in now." Jim put a hand around his gun and stepped over the threshold into the apartment, which immediately opened into a single large room that was bedroom, living room, and kitchen in one. There was a bag of groceries on the round kitchen table, yet there was no trace of Wilde's proxy. "Hello? Anyone home?"

While Jim took a look inside the groceries bag and then briefly inspected the black cell phone that was lying on the tabletop next to the bag, Harvey had crept further to the door that probably led to the bathroom. But when he pushed it open and took a step inside, that very door was slammed into his face with full force and he fell to the floor moaning.

"Harvey!"

Jim rushed to his partner's aid, helped him to his feet before they both raised their guns and stormed into the bathroom on Jim's signal.

In front of the ajar door, however, stood Edward and Bruce. At Jim's yell, Bruce had immediately made a move to rush to the two policemen's aid, but Edward held him back as soon as he had crossed the threshold. His gaze had fallen on a chest of drawers, on top of which stood a large cardboard box with the word ′Donation′ written on it. The flaps were open and inside, Edward could see all kinds of toys, including a net with colorful ping-pong balls. He grinned. "I have an idea."

While Edward wrapped the prepared ping-pong ball in aluminum foil, after he had pushed a pen into the self-made opening of the ball, in order to create a tunnel from which the smoke would finally rise in a bundled cloud, Bruce kept his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Screams, moans, and the comic-like sound of air-breaking movements reached his ears. And yet no shot was fired. Fortunately, no shot was fired.

"All set." Edward held three of the self-made smoke bombs in his hands, his satisfied grin reflected in the crumpled aluminum foil like a deformed grimace. "Ready, youngster?"

That Nygma called him a youngster was annoying to Bruce, but at least, unlike Jim, he let him help – which, of course, didn't change the fact that he was a criminal and a bad person. On the other hand, not every criminal was _always_ bad; after all, the world was not black and white, but a palette of different shades of gray.

"Yeah." Bruce rushed to his position next to the bathroom door while Edward heated all three balls one after the other with a match until they started fuming. Colorful smoke rose from them like thick clouds and Bruce gently pushed the bathroom door open so Edward could throw the bombs inside.

"Table tennis balls like these are made of a material called celluloid. This in turn contains the highly inflammable nitrocellulose, colloquially known as guncotton. As it also produces carbon monoxide during its inflammation, the material has a slight toxicity when inhaled. But no worries, unlike carbon monoxide, which is – as even a layman would know – odorless, burning celluloid is easily recognized by its unique odor – like sour camphor."

While Edward had been talking, the entire bathroom had filled up with smoke and Bruce had to cover his nose to avoid breathing it in. From inside, a loud coughing and rattling resounded, and finally a delicate figure broke through the smoke, stopped in the middle of the room, panting, and bent over breathlessly towards the floor. It was a young woman with blonde, pinned-up hair and a pointed mice-like face, wearing a red leather jacket.

"Hello, Ecco," Edward said with a smirk, had both hands outstretched, with the palms facing the ceiling, like a magician proving the authenticity of his skills, just before he captivated the audience with a new illusion. "Why do ping-pong players not fear vampires?"

Ecco wrinkled her nose confusedly, but by then it was already too late. Bruce Wayne had raised the ping-pong bat and struck it against the back of the woman's head, sending her face down to the floor.

Edward giggled. "They know how to handle a bat." He fell silent for a moment, then made a grimace and shrugged his shoulders. "I know – mediocre at best. That was improvised," he criticized himself. In fact, even Bruce had turned his head briefly in confusion over the bad pun.

Shortly thereafter, Gordon and Bullock left the bathroom, panting and shuffling, and saw the knocked-out Ecco on the floor and Edward and Bruce beside her.

Gordon pulled a discontented face, but then forced himself to squeeze out a short "well-done" as he accompanied the stumbling Bullock to the next chair, then returned to handcuff Ecco and check her pulse. He was visibly uncomfortable that he had let a child and a criminal do the police work for him.

Five minutes later, Gordon received a call from Alvarez telling him that Xander Wilde had been involved in the construction of Wayne Plaza, among other things. Bruce had then made a call to Alfred because he was convinced that his father might have written down information about the construction and all the engineers involved in it in one of his many notebooks.

He was still on the phone when Ecco awoke from her unconsciousness, hissing.

"Hello, sleepyhead," Edward breathed with a sneering grin, sitting next to her on a chair – the policemen had previously carried the unconscious woman to the bed together.

Ecco pulled a stern face.

"You see the youngster over there? He's about to tell us where Xander Wilde is. So now the only question I have to ask myself is, 'What's his connection to Jerome Valeska?'"

"You'll get nothing from me."

Edward calmly spread his arms. "Okay. Then I suppose I'll have to hand him over."

Ecco lowered her brows, a soft hiss escaping her lips. "Hand him over? Didn't you say you were policemen?"

" _Oh, no, no._ You see: _those_ are policemen. I, on the other hand, am...", he once ran his hands over the lapel of his green suit jacket, " _the Riddler_ , and I don't care what happens to Xander Wilde once I hand him over."

Ecco forced herself to smile, apparently trying to hide how worried she was. "And your cop friends know what you're up to?"

"Doesn't matter." He rose. " _But_ maybe there would be a way to reconcile our interests somehow, if only we knew who we were dealing with. Your call."

In the background, Bruce closed his cell phone, "We don't have a full address, but we _do_ have a street: Ainslie Drive."

Harvey snapped his fingers. "I know where that is. By the old quarry."

"We should leave immediately." Gordon ran to the bed, grabbed Ecco by the upper arm. "And you will come with us." They could still use Ecco to identify the house, and perhaps she would eventually help them convince the reclusive Wilde to let the policemen see him.

"If we go to him now, Jerome's people could follow us," protested Ecco.

Bruce stepped forward. "So he is hiding from Jerome – is that what you're trying to tell us?" He had already thought of this when Alfred had told him that his father had visited this Xander Wilde in person and without any company. Xander and Jerome's connection had to go back a long time, if Xander had lived in isolation for all those years, and perhaps it was even the reason for his decision to live a life as a hermit.

"Tell us. Only then we might be able to protect Wilde," Gordon pushed.

Ecco was at odds with herself. But after a brief silence, in which she had stared thoughtfully at the floorboards, she finally answered. "It is true. After graduating, Mr. Wilde built himself a fortress on the outskirts to hide from his brother – Jerome Valeska."

"His..." Harvey blinked overwhelmed, then turned away from everyone to point his arms towards the sky in utter consternation. "That freak has a brother? _Mamma mia!_ "

"Jerome cannot be allowed to get to him under any circumstances. Who knows what he'd do to him."

Gordon nodded, his eyes staring blankly into space. "He won't. You can count on us."

Edward listened up, adjusting his glasses to attract attention. "Aren't you forgetting something, _Jimbo_?" A glance at his wristwatch had told him that he only had 45 minutes left to get Xander to Jerome.

"I didn't forget, Ed. I'll figure out how to get Oswald out of there. But first we gotta go see Xander Wilde."

\---

The ice roared menacingly, long cracks stretched across the surface, in which Oswald's face was faintly reflected; but the space behind it was also visible, though slightly shifted and minimized as if looking the wrong way through binoculars. And finally, there was a crunching noise, the ice shattered at the crest of their barricade and Oswald, Freeze, Ivy and Martin were able to climb out of their hiding place one after the other.

Oswald's lips and eyes stood wide open in absolute bewilderment. "W-what **happened here?!** " Towards the front of the mansion there was a gaping hole in the wall as big as the ball of a circus elephant, the windows were shattered and the entire room was devastated as if after a grenade had hit – or ten. Whatever had caused this hole in the wall had not stopped at the door to the hallway either. Instead, he could now see from here directly into the room across the hall that Fish had once occupied. _Fish..._ Oswald had almost forgotten her death in all the turmoil. Now he sighed, had sadly pursed his lips and leaned slightly on the dust-covered desk. When he found the picture that Martin had drawn lying on the floor, held in place by one of the desk feet, he bent down, took a quick glance at it before folding it and putting it into his jacket, which by now had become slightly creased and dirty.

Meanwhile, Ivy, Martin and Freeze were standing next to Firefly, who was still lying on the ground. Something must have fallen on her head because she was bleeding and Freeze squatted down to check her breathing.

"Is she gonna be all right?" Ivy asked worriedly.

"With her hot temper, she can take it," replied Freeze, and you couldn't really tell whether he meant it comradely or hostile. But he lifted the woman off the floor and threw her unconscious body over his shoulder. "It would be for the best if we left now."

He went ahead, while Ivy and Martin were still waiting for Oswald. "You coming, Pengy? Would be uncool if the roof collapsed on our heads."

Martin, oddly calm for what he had been through, stepped forward and took Oswald's hand, dragged his limping father out of the rubble, so to speak, and let him stop just once to pick up his cane in the dining room.

Outside the door of Van Dahl manor, Victor and his men were waiting, and as soon as Oswald saw the hitman, he stormed forward foaming with rage. " **You!** Was there no other way to save us than to **shoot a huge hole into my house!?** Look what you've done!"

Victor put his head back, gliding his gaze to the hole in the facade, which Oswald pointed to with aggressive movements and hissing gasps. " _I don't know._ Kinda opens up the place." It was telling that Oswald did not thank Victor for the rescue, but instead preferred to complain to him. Sometimes the mobster just couldn't be pleased.

Ivy appeared behind Oswald, a soothing smile on her face. "Chill out, Pengy. It's just an old house."

" **Just an old house?!** My father's family lived here for _centuries_! But what could _you_ possibly know about such things?" His look was cold and degrading.

Ivy puffed up her cheeks, groping for words in rising anger. "Well, I'm sorry that I'm more interested in my _living_ family than in some dead people and their possessions! A family to which I counted you! You... you **meanie!** " Tears filled her eyes as she snorted and strutted away, putting distance between herself and Oswald, but without leaving the property completely.

Her reaction had actually made Oswald reconsider his words and he squeezed his eyelids together while silently scolding himself. He would probably have to apologize to her – although he had such a hard time apologizing sincerely.

But now he shook off the guilt and turned back to Victor. "What happened to Jerome? Has he managed to escape you?"

Victor shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody left the house but you."

"That's not possible." From Oswald's point of view there were only two possible scenarios, either Jerome was still in the house, or he had somehow managed to remain unrecognized and thus escape.

Victor just made a grimace, and when Oswald saw that some of his men were making an attempt to enter the house, he held them back, tapped one of them with his index finger against his chest, which was wrapped in black buffalo hide, while he spoke in a hushed voice. "Inside you will find the body of Fish Mooney. Bury her discreetly. It might be better if no one knows of her death on my property."

"You got it, boss."

"Boss! We found someone suspicious," two of his minions shouted, approaching him with a teenage girl dressed all in black, her neck covered with pitch-black feathers, her hair snow-white in contrast and cut into a straight bob. She struggled unsuccessfully against the two goons, snorting and throwing her head around.

"Who do we have here?" Oswald, who of course assumed that the woman was an accomplice of Jerome Valeska, grinned sadistically. "If you don't wish to end like his last two lackeys, you will tell me where Jerome has gone."

"I dunno who you're talking about. But Jerome I saw. Saw him in the back, shot two of your men – _bang bang_ – and fled through the trees. Wanted to follow him, but my mission is to keep an eye on you."

Oswald lowered his lids. "Me? On whose orders?"

She smiled amused, as if she knew what this information would trigger in Oswald. "The Riddler's."

"Ed-- Do you know where he is now?"

As the woman shook her head very slowly and dramatically, while also theatrically pursing her lips and widening her eyes, Oswald hissed. But then she pointed to her jacket with the tip of her nose. "Gave me a phone."

A quick rummage later, and pulling out a gold pocket watch, a silver hair clip and a tie pin, which seemed strangely familiar to Oswald and which he therefore took with a hiss, and Oswald was able to dial Edward's number. 

\---

"You can call me Jeremiah. That's the name my mother gave me. You solved her murder, Detective Gordon; I owe you a debt of gratitude for that, and…" he raised his head slightly, as if he had to prove gesturally that he was above things, "for putting Jerome in Arkham, where he belongs."

"Everything indicates that he escaped to find you. Can you imagine why?"

"Jerome, you must know, was born... _evil_."

Everyone present listened up and so Jeremiah began his speech, which sounded as if he had practiced it several times in front of the mirror. "From an early age, I showed proficiency for maths and design, and Jerome, mainly the mutilation of alley cats. On my tenth birthday, he held a cake knife to my throat. A few weeks later, he lit my bed on fire. It was like living in a nightmare. My mother knew, eventually he would succeed, so one night my uncle came to my room while Jerome slept and told me that he was taking me away. I had no idea where, but I kissed my mother goodbye, told her I love her and I never saw her again. My uncle took me to St. Ignatius. Got a new name, new life. And I was finally able to live without fear." He swallowed hard, his eyes wandered unfocused to the ground. "I heard about my mother's death, Jerome's crimes, his escape, the... cult, and I knew that hiding from him was the right decision. So tell me, detectives, why would I leave my home now?"

Gordon stepped forward. "To help us put your brother back behind bars."

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm gonna be led like a lamb to slaughter."

In the background, Edward was gnashing his teeth. He would give this conversation two more minutes, and then drag this Jeremiah Valeska out of his rabbit hole, and if necessary kill anyone who tried to stop him.

But Bruce Wayne now stepped forward, offering his hand to Jeremiah. "Mr. Valeska. I'm Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jeremiah looked a little confused at first, but then he returned the handshake. "Likewise. I wish the circumstances were better."

Bruce let his gaze wander across the room, over blueprints, geometric instruments and electronic equipment. "You're the engineer who designed the new power generators, right?"

"That's correct."

"I admire your work. You have a brilliant mind. And we all hope we can soon be rid of your brother, so that you can carry out more projects like this for the city. I understand if you choose not to help us today. But I can assure you that the GCPD can protect you. Mr. Gordon already protected me from your brother once. I trust him."

"So you would face my insane brother?" Jeremiah seemed doubtful.

Bruce lifted his chin a little. "The only way to take the power away from terror is to stand up to it."

The determined look that Bruce gave him, the wise words – something of it seemed to have stirred Jeremiah, for he twitched the corners of his mouth several times in brooding before admitting in a resigning breath: "Well said."

For Edward's taste, this sudden change of opinion came perhaps a little too quickly, but he would not complain as long as he got Oswald back in the end. And while Jeremiah put on a jacket, Edward's cell phone suddenly rang. It was the number he had given the young thief, Magpie.

"Magpie. What have you got?"

From the other end, he heard a throaty yet relieved laugh that made him frown confusedly, and finally a delighted voice rose, filling his chest with warmth. "It's really you. Ed, you cannot imagine how glad I am to hear your voice."

" _Oswald._ "

Jim and Harvey gave each other a quick glance while Edward turned away from them, the cell phone pressed close to his cheek, his lips trembling and curling into an overwhelmed smile.

"How... how are you? Did you escape Jerome?"

"As you know, I'm hard to kill. Unfortunately though, Jerome escaped."

"We'll find him. And he will pay for today. But first-- Let's meet up. Are you still at the mansion?"

"Yes, but we'd better meet somewhere else. Until Jerome is caught, it may be wiser for me to stay in a safe place." That his mansion now, thanks to Victor, had a new large and crumbly window, and that he wanted to burn his entire bed to get rid of even the smallest scurf of Jerome Valeska's skin, Oswald kept quiet about for now.

"Is Magpie still with you?"

"You mean the thief you sent after me? Yes. Yes, she's right here." Oswald had an amused but scolding tone.

"Tell her to bring you to my home. I'll meet you there."

When he hung up, everyone present was already questioning him with glances. He decided to cut it short. "Oswald got away from Jerome. Jerome escaped."

"And you're going to meet up with Oswald now?" Gordon asked immediately, one hand gripping his belt.

"I don't see how that would concern you anymore, Detective."

"He may have information on Jerome that will help us catch him. We'll accompany you to your meeting."

"The Narrows pride themselves on not having any cops in their midst."

Gordon grinned like a scolded dog. "Then I guess I'll be coming along not as a detective, but as a private citizen. Jim Gordon, on a visit, to see his old friend Oswald." He must have thought he was being very clever.

Edward gave an incredulous snort. "Jim." First he turned his eyes downwards, shook his head softly, and when he lifted his gaze again, something challenging glimmered in his eyes. "You wouldn't last an hour without pulling your badge."

And Jim, who was bad at being on the receiving end, took the bait. "Let's find out."

Edward turned on his heels, an amused smile on his lips. "You'll leave your badge _and_ gun in the car, and we have an agreement."

"Deal."

Harvey stepped forward, his beard full of worry. "You sure this is a good idea, buddy? We're talking about Edward Nygma here, self-proclaimed _ruler of the_ _Narrows_ _._ I'm sure Penguin can't help us anyway."

"We'll have to take that risk. You can wait at the border if you like."

"I must be out of my mind, but: _forget it_. If we go, we'll go together."

Gordon smiled. "You worried about me?"

"Somebody will have to save your sorry ass if you get into trouble again, you putz," Harvey replied with a grin.

"I'm coming too," Bruce suddenly announced. "I can't go home and just sit on my hands. I want to help bring Jerome back to Arkham."

"Me too," Jeremiah eventually said.

"Then I'll join you, too, to protect you," Ecco said, who had previously stood at the door in silence.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "The car is starting to get a bit crowded."

"He is right." Jeremiah walked up to Ecco, put both hands on the shoulders of his assistant. "You stay here. I have to do this alone." He swallowed, what looked somewhat bizarre about him. "I'll face my brother." He turned his head to Bruce Wayne before adding "Right?" and Bruce nodded proudly.

\---

On the way to the Narrows, Bullock gave some instructions on the next moves of the police against the escaped Arkham inmates and demanded that he be informed immediately if Jerome Valeska, Jonathan Crane or Jervis Tetch were sighted. Fortunately, most of the ordinary inmates had by now been arrested, and the damage that had been done so far had also been within limits, which could be described as a 'terrible catastrophe' but not yet as a 'horrific massacre', so that Harvey was actually quite relieved when they crossed the bridge into the Narrows, but uncomfortably pulled his face together when the guard behind the barricade gave him a sharp glance.

In front of the house where Edward had somehow started to live, he stopped the car. In the lower part of the house there was a bar where he held smaller events at – for now – irregular intervals to keep the population and himself happy. In the upper part there was a run-down apartment where he had lived since his arrival and where he had also set up a workshop.

As Edward staggered up the stairs, in his back Gordon, Bullock, Bruce and Jeremiah, and saw that the door to his apartment was open, his heart began to pound loudly against his chest. His mouth widened to a cheerful grin as he arrived at his door, and he stepped inside with a nervously wandering look, only to immediately run into someone who was about to leave the apartment: Victor Fries.

"Pardon me. Penguin's waiting for you," the icy man said, and then pushed his way down past Edward and his whole entourage. While passing Bullock and Gordon, he gave them deadly glances.

Oswald was in fact sitting in the apartment, had lowered himself onto the couch in the bedroom and was restlessly tapping the floor with the tip of his shoe. Ivy and Martin had already gone to bed – it was after midnight, after all. Both had squashed themselves together on the sofa in Edward's workshop, obviously in an intention to leave the bedroom to Oswald and Edward. So far Oswald had not yet seen an opportunity to apologize to Ivy, and Ivy had shown herself reserved but not heartless toward him. Freeze had taken Firefly to a doctor in the Narrows with information from the young thief and wanted to keep an eye on her in case she was still under hypnosis when she woke up and Victor had withdrawn for the time being and left the chaos in the Van Dahl mansion to Oswald's men.

He was completely exhausted. Only now that he was sitting here, in this small room, did he really notice how much the day had affected him. His body felt like a cuddled bag that only held together on one last patch, and although he was excited to see Edward again, his eyes closed a couple of times. This changed, however, when determined steps approached and someone opened the door to the bedroom.

"Oswald."

He lifted his eyes and immediately all his facial expressions brightened up and were completely taken over by a smile. He jumped up from the couch, hurried limping towards his best friend, who without hesitation opened his arms for him, even though Oswald downright threw himself at him in relief. And for this small eternity of their embrace, both men had completely forgotten that they were no longer a couple, completely forgotten that at their last physical encounter they had been estranged. It was not important. What was important was that Oswald was unharmed and that they were both reunited.

Even though he felt he had not yet absorbed enough of Edward's warmth, Oswald broke away from his friend, his eyes falling on the four men who had entered the room behind Edward and watched the close embrace of the two criminals with mixed feelings. Oswald made a disgusted grimace. "What are _they_ doing here?"

"Gordon and Bullock want to ask you some questions about Jerome."

"And so you warmly invited them here?" Oswald asked sarcastically.

"As much as I would like to make Jerome personally pay for what he has done, I have to admit that I am genuinely worried."

Oswald had raised both eyebrows and turned his gaze toward Bullock and Gordon. "I can see that." Standing behind the two cops was Bruce Wayne – whatever _he_ wanted here – and standing next to Bruce Wayne was another man who had to be Xander Wilde. His resemblance to Jerome was so uncanny that he wondered if they were twins. But Oswald didn't just feel shivers at the sight of this man, who looked so much like the maniac who had tortured him earlier, he also felt joy. So Edward had actually found him. He had made the impossible possible to save Oswald.

Gordon stepped forward to the mob boss, clearing his throat. "Oswald. I see you're well."

Oswald smirked arrogantly. "Is that relief or disappointment on your face?"

Gordon smiled, but also seemed a little bit caught, before he squinted briefly to the floor, both hands on his hips. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"About Jerome."

"Yeah, about Jerome."

His chin raised like a vain king, and with the smile of a Mephistopheles, Oswald guided Jim, Harvey, Bruce and Jeremiah out of the room. "And I will gladly answer your questions, Jim, _old friend_ – tomorrow, at breakfast." And with that he slammed the door shut before the four men and was more than happy to find a lock that he could close additionally.

"The whole thing with Jerome Valeska has exhausted me quite a bit. You'll forgive me if I really go to sleep now?", Oswald asked politely when he turned back to Edward.

The latter calmly tightened the corners of his mouth. "Of course. Get some rest." But all of a sudden Edward noticed something and he cleared his throat quietly before adding: "So this is the first night we spend in the same room."

Oswald froze in place, had not realized it until now either, and Edward wanted to slap himself for his words. Now he could only hope that Oswald would not run away. Stammering, he tried to put right what he had already ruined. "Oswald, I--"

But the other man relaxed his posture again, merely appearing a little nervous as he raised his gaze to Edward and announced: "I will sleep on the couch."

"No, Oswald. Please. You are my guest. Take the bed. I know it's not much - I haven't had time to take care of these things yet."

Oswald looked at the rickety bed with the flattened mattress, his disapproval of this 'furniture' easily recognizable by his raised eyebrows, but he tried not to let it show. "It will do the job."

For a brief moment Edward had the feeling that Oswald was debating whether to undress for sleep. In the end, however, he simply put his cane in a room-corner, slipped out of his jacket, tie, waistcoat and shoes, and then lay under the blanket with the rest of his clothes still on his body.

Edward did the same, didn't want to be the one again who pushed too much with intimacy – especially since they were actually still not in a relationship again. One last glimpse at his best friend, his glasses removed and placed on the desk behind his back, and then he turned off the light. "Goodnight, Oswald."

"Goodnight, Ed."

 **Ba-dump, Ba-dump, Ba-dump.** But as Edward closed his eyes, the outlines of the austere room faded into obscurity, the pain in his head returned and even the darkest place behind his eyelids seemed to spin. His pulse rang in his ears, his body felt like it was lying on coals and his muscles started to tremble weakly. He moaned softly, changing his position on the couch several times before he rose with a hiss and took his head between his hands.

"Can't sleep?" it came from the bed in a whisper.

"No..."

There was a rustling; Oswald had sat up on the mattress. "Me neither." He seemed to ponder for a moment before adding, very hesitantly, "Do you want to talk?"

"Sure."

It only took a moment and Edward heard the sound of uneven footsteps on the dusty floorboards. A second moment passed and Oswald appeared in front of the couch, sat down next to him after Edward had given him room. He looked like a scolded child, sat there, his head between his shoulders, and made no attempt to speak.

"Are you all right, Oswald? You want to talk about what happened tod--"

"No." Oswald had raised his flat hand in a pleading gesture. "I'd rather not." He swallowed, then tensed both hands on his knees. "Though you should probably know that Fish is dead."

Edward's eyelids lifted in surprise, but he did not speak a word. He deliberately held back, too afraid that Oswald could hear from his voice that Edward was actually quite relieved about this occurrence. For too long they had tolerated this woman and her claims to power. Instead, he just sympathetically raised the corners of his mouth and then very gently put an arm around Oswald's shoulder. He was unsure how far he could go. They had already hugged before, so another hug should probably be okay. But he did not want to overwhelm Oswald either. His struggle had obviously been visible from the outside, for Oswald took the decision away from him and pressed himself against his best friend, buried his face in Edward's shoulder.

"I missed you." Oswald spoke it against the fabric of Edward's shirt, which made his voice sound muffled, and the spot his mouth touched became warmed by his breath.

"I missed you, too." Edward swallowed. "Oswald, there is something I should probably tell you about... my condition these last few days..."

Oswald broke away from him, looked him attentively from below in the face and thereby paralyzed Edward's vocal cords so much that he had to clear his throat before he could start speaking. "The last few days were difficult for me. I had to hurry to get the generator ready for use in the Narrows; on the one hand for political reasons – I had to convince as many residents as possible of the efficiency of my rule – but on the other hand also because I didn't like being separated from you." He briefly squinted at Oswald, whose expression had fortunately not changed too much. "At the same time, however, I also wanted to deal with my... alter ego. And because I could not achieve all my goals at once, I made a mistake I regret."

Oswald pulled his eyebrows together and Edward, for lack of his glasses, began to play with his fingers, weaving them together frantically.

"Oswald, the last few days my hallucinations have gotten worse."

"How can this be? Didn't you say--"

Edward elaborated, simply cut Oswald short, because he could not bear to hear from his mouth what he himself had said just a few days ago. "They got worse as a side effect of a drug I shouldn't have been taking."

"You did what? But why?" Oswald's face was completely irritated, causing Edward to feel even worse.

"I used it because it helped me focus and... kept me awake. I also initially took a second drug that was supposed to help reduce my hallucinations, but its effect was completely cancelled out by the other one."

Oswald's gaze sank to Edward's clasped hands – they trembled – then up to his irises, which roamed in confusion, his eyelids, which he squeezed together every ten seconds. "When was the last time you took this drug?"

"Yesterday morning."

Edward flinched when he felt Oswald's hand on his. "You're trembling."

"Perhaps lack of sleep is catching up with me." He raised one hand to his temple. "It would be bearable if the stabbing headaches weren't there."

As if on an unspoken command, Oswald stirred, walked over to the bed and came back with a pillow that he placed on his thighs after sitting down. He tapped twice on the gray-blue fabric cover. "Lie down."

Edward blinked his eyelids in confusion. "Pardon me?"

A throaty laugh escaped from Oswald's lips and when he glanced at Edward, he seemed almost mischievous. "Lie down, let me massage your temples. I still have to pay you back for that foot massage anyway."

For a moment Edward could do nothing else but look at his best friend, who again tapped on the pillow and made Edward smile in shame. "As you wish," he said, half laughing, half choking with nervousness, and then positioned himself so that the back of his head was on Oswald's thighs, his long legs protruding from the backrest, even bumping slightly against the desk. 

Oswald placed his hands around Edward's temples, his thumbs pressed precisely on the temporal bone, and began to massage the tense skin in gentle circular movements.

At first Edward had opened his eyes, looked into the face of his friend, whose gaze was so affectionate that it made him feel very warm, his lips curling into a smile as if forced by an unstoppable power. But as the massage grew stronger, Oswald exerted more pressure on his temples, he closed them, sighed softly, feeling that the pain in his head, attracted by Oswald's fingertips, would slowly collect in his temples, where it was gradually absorbed by them. Finally, Oswald's hands moved on, continuing the circling movements above his eyebrows.

"Does it help a little?"

"A lot. Thank you."

"The last time I saw you for so long without glasses was when I lived in your apartment."

Edward opened his eyes, grinning. "That was also the last time I saw you for so long in anything other than formal wear or a robe."

Oswald laughed, leaning forward slightly, so that Edward felt the vibration of his belly and the pleasant warmth emanating from his friend. "I suppose that's true." Edward watched with delight and rising heat as Oswald slowly sucked his lower lip and moistened it with saliva. "My father once said, 'a man can tell so much about himself by what he's wearing.'" Oswald's smile turned into a nervous grimace when Edward suddenly let two fingers of his left hand slide over the button facing of Oswald's shirt.

"I completely agree with him," he said in a husky voice. He could have now asked Oswald more about when he had begun to dress so formally, and what exactly had prompted him to do so, but he did not want to ruin the moment, so he just glanced up at his friend for a brief moment and then, as if in silent admiration, looked at the soft fabric under his fingertips.

Oswald gulped air, his lips trembling with nervousness. With someone else, he would probably not have perceived this touch as being as intimate as he now did with Edward. In fact, Edward merely touched the fabric, not the skin underneath. And yet, yet a shiver went over Oswald's body – a shiver that felt frighteningly good and frighteningly frightening.

To distract himself from the tangle of emotions, Oswald moved his fingers further until his index fingers gently wrapped around Edward's nose bridge. The latter then twitched his brows a little confused, shrugged his nose as if trying to chase away a landed butterfly, and then looked up at Oswald questioningly.

"Trust me – it does help," he affirmed amusedly. "My mother used to do this for me when I was stressed-out – she sang too, but ... as you know, my talent for singing is limited."

"Your mother loved you very much." A simple statement, but it made Oswald smile with shame, his cheeks turning all red.

Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel's back, for Edward shook his head very faintly before muttering, "I can't do this," as he lifted his head from Oswald's lap. Now he just sat there, breathing heavily, while staring at the wall.

"Ed?" Oswald was worried that he had done something wrong. One hand hovered uncertainly over Edward's shoulder.

When Edward turned towards him, his eyes widened because they could not find a clear focus in the blurriness which was his world without glasses, Oswald immediately closed his lips and swallowed.

"Oswald, I'm sorry." He had lowered his eyes in humility, his jaw seemed tense. "What I said to you – that I would feel better if I didn't have to deal with your problems too--"

When Oswald realized what Edward was alluding to, he too lowered his gaze. "It's all right, Ed." He gasped in surprise when Edward suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders.

"No, it's not all right! I didn't appreciate all the little intimacies between us – simply because you didn't want to sleep with me and now-- I miss them. I miss you, Oswald. And I realize that I have... psychological problems-", it was clearly difficult for him to admit this, "and I want to work on them. But I don't think I can do this alone. _The truth is:_ I am completely lost without you. I love you."

Even though his vision was blurred and also a little wet, he could still see how Oswald's eyes filled with tears. He heard him pull up his nose, saw the redness on his face. "I love you too, Ed. And... I missed you too." He took a deep breath. "I know it's not easy with me and I'm trying to change that – _I'm trying._ I-- I don't know if you can help me--"

"I could try," Edward immediately affirmed.

Oswald tilted his head with a smile, which looked almost desperate with his tear-stained eyes. "Perhaps."

All of a sudden Edward seemed to have an idea. He raised one finger in a lecturing manner. "Did you know that groups of penguins in search of food often send the bravest one ahead in the water before the others follow? They do this in order to be able to assess whether danger lurks under the surface. _Interesting, isn't it?_ The so-called 'penguin effect' within crowd psychology derives from this behavior."

As soon as Edward had spoken his first words, Oswald had already escaped an amused but at the same time satisfied laugh. "And... how exactly is that supposed to help me in my situation?", he asked, shaking his head.

Edward smirked and his eyes began to sparkle, mischievous and determined. "You can send me ahead to test the water for you."

Oswald pulled his brows together. "Without the metaphor, Ed," he demanded in fake irritation.

Edward crossed his fingers in front of his chest and said, "I will read up on your particular problem and help you test your limits – no pressure, as much time as you need."

"This... sounds vague."

For a second Oswald had the feeling that Edward's eyes had gone completely black. "Should I make it more explicit?" His voice had dropped to a murmur.

Nervously, Oswald flinched. "N-not necessary. I... trust you." But he didn't really know if that was the truth. When his life was at stake he trusted Edward blindly - of course - but in _this_ particular respect the certainty left him. 

He feared that his insecurity had been heard, because Edward dropped the corners of his mouth for a split second, then cleared his throat once and averted his gaze. For a moment his right hand moved up to his temple and only upon arrival seemed to notice that there were no glasses to grab. "Perhaps a hug would suffice for today." Edward was just relieving himself with the thought that he could still kiss Oswald tomorrow. Tomorrow was good – even if his fingers itched to reach for Oswald's cheek, to press those narrow pale lips against his. But tomorrow was perfectly fine.

Oswald nodded in relief. "A hug sounds good."

They fell against each other as if it were the most natural thing in the world, held each other in a tight embrace, and if Edward had had his way, they would have done so all night long, but at some point Oswald rose and went to bed. And this time, after they had cried the strain of the last few days from their souls and talked their worries from their hearts, they both fell asleep.

Tbc


	25. Every great operation starts with a collage (and breakfast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Oswald the next morning is filled with riddles, breakfast with a bizarre group of people and doing a collage.

Chapter 25

**Every great operation starts with a collage (and breakfast)**

Oswald woke up with a smile on the lips and the back of a glacier mummy, wrinkled his nose in pain as his joints cracked while sitting upright. Maybe he should have slept on the couch after all. Or on Edward's stomach, cradled to sleep by his steady breathing and the familiar odor. Ashamed, he gritted his teeth while his heart, whipped by the thought, pounded in his chest, then he crawled out from under the rag that pretended to be a blanket, and rose from the creaking bed. He thought nothing of it when he no longer found Edward on the couch, the blanket folded in perfect symmetry and hung over the backrest in store-like smoothness. After all, his friend was an early riser.

Oswald's clothes from yesterday were hanging over the foot of the metal bed and he pulled a grimace as he took them and looked at the wrinkled, dirty fabric, then pressed them against his nose and decided that he could not leave the room wearing them. The shirt and pants he had worn all night would probably smell even worse. He fervently hoped that the sanitary facilities in the Narrows were not of the same standard as the bed. He longed for a hot bath before breakfast. Strange how living in wealth had changed him. Just a few years ago, when he had been ruled by people like Fish, Falcone and Maroni, a little dirt and the smell of sweat would not have bothered him. Although comments about his alleged bad smell had hurt him, the thought of destroying his superiors someday had made him endure _everything_ , all the humiliation and pain.

As he was about to go outside to look for a bathroom, he noticed the note that had been stuck to the closed door. The thick paper was printed with a faint green question mark, with a message written in ink over its squiggly body. On the one hand, Oswald smiled, because it was obvious who had left this message, but on the other hand, his brows lifted with unease when he saw the title, which read 'Quest'.

_I have not flesh, nor feathers, nor scales, nor bone._

_Yet I have fingers and thumbs of my own._

_What am I?_

"Seriously, Ed? A riddle in the morning?" He sighed in exhaustion and then looked around the room. If Edward had stuck the note to the inside of the door, this could probably be an indication that the item was inside the room. He was praising himself inwardly as he looked over to the couch and saw a poison-green leather glove on its armrest. But instead of some kind of prize, he found only another note in it, and on the note another riddle.

_I have four legs, a head, and a foot._

_Yet I cannot breath and always stay put._

_What am I?_

"Another one?" As soon as he would see Edward, he would have to tell him that riddles were forbidden before the first coffee.

Still with the note in his hand, he turned once in a circle. The only furniture in the room were the couch, the desk, a narrow closet and the bed. With a determined look he hobbled towards the bed, pulled back the blanket, turned the pillow, lifted the mattress a little, but stopped when he saw the fingertips of the second green glove sticking out from under the furniture. He knelt on the floor, made a painful grimace as he twisted his right ankle too much, and reached for the glove. When he tried to take it, however, he saw that there was a note underneath. He sighed already, but then he noticed that this note contained only one word: 'pull'. 

And as he pulled, he realized that the note was attached to a thin fishing line, which in turn was tied around a creeper, which now struck his knees. An origami penguin had been sitting on it, which had fallen over due to the sudden jerk, now rested on the mountain of carefully folded clothes, which Oswald immediately lifted onto the bed and spread out, so as not to risk any creases in the fabric. What he saw was beautiful. A tailcoat suit that at first glance looked as if it had been woven from dark purple fabric. At second glance, however, a pattern similiar to birdseye but slightly larger was visible. The purple threads lay in diamond shape over a black woolen ground, so that the whole suit looked as if a woven purple net had been sewn over black fabric. The tailcoat had black decorative buttons and a pointed lapel with black edging. The matching double-breasted waistcoat was made of the same wool fabric as the suit and had a black shawl collar. The shirt was black, but the areas to the left and right of the button facing were dark purple and pleated. In a pen-sized box there was also a black silk ascot with purple ornaments, a pocket square in the same style, a black tie pin and black cufflinks with purple stone. And between the fine clothing, as if hidden, Oswald also found black socks and underwear – very simple, shy, without the slightest risk.

Oswald grinned. He could not help grinning. In euphoric speed, he grabbed the origami penguin, looked at it from all sides before unfolding it, revealing the letter that had been hidden inside.

_Good morning, sleepyhead._

_I thought you'd like some fresh clothes, so I took a little morning trip._

_I hope I met your taste. You know how much I love purple on you._

_If you want to take a shower before breakfast, you just have to walk down the hall. I'll be in the kitchen._

_Yours, Edward._

_PS, counter-intuitively, Gordon and Bullock stayed the night._

If you knew Edward as well as Oswald did, you could tell from the last sentence how displeased he was with the fact that the policemen had remained in the Narrows. Oswald would probably need to prepare himself for a long conversation with Gordon. The very thought of it tired him so much that the rickety bed in front of him suddenly looked like a beach oasis.

\---

To find the kitchen, Oswald, now freshly showered and dressed, simply had to follow his nose. The smell of pancakes and coffee was in the air. But when he turned into the white-tiled room with the long birch table, he remained standing in the doorway at first, looking at the people in the chairs, some of whom were eating, a few had already empty plates in front of them, and others were just drinking coffee. Edward had forgotten to mention in his letter that not only Gordon and Bullock, but also Bruce Wayne and Xander Wilde had spent the night in the Narrows. And for a reason that Oswald didn't really care about, Alfred Pennyworth was in the kitchen as well, turning a golden-brown pancake in the pan with the skill that only the butler of a disgustingly rich family could possess, while wearing a plaid apron.

Edward sat at the head of the table, the morning paper in his hand.

"Oswald. Finally." Jim Gordon, of course, had to be the first to notice his presence. He hinted to Oswald to sit in the empty seat between him and Edward.

"I was held up," Oswald explained with a playfully scolding look to Edward, who had jumped to his feet as soon as he noticed the presence of his boyfriend. Now he made wide and satisfied eyes because he thought Oswald looked fantastic in the dark purple tailcoat, and he struggled to decide whether he should pay him a compliment. He cleared his throat, then with one hand adjusted his glasses on his nose. "You look great, Oswald."

"Thanks, Ed." Deep dimples framed Oswald's smiling face.

From today on Edward wanted to be the perfect boyfriend. He wanted Oswald to feel loved and comfortable. Every day, every hour, every second. He would no longer pressure him, would satisfy his built-up lust during his morning showers. At the same time he would try to find a solution to their sexual problem. On his morning trip he had already stocked up on some information, but had not yet found anything in which he could really recognize Oswald. One thing was for sure, the reason had to be physical or psychological, because if Oswald was merely asexual, the thought of sex would probably not affect him so badly. In addition, his friend claimed that he did want it, but – for some unknown reason – could not go through with it. Even mere shyness or fear, due to the fact that he was still a virgin, would not have such a strong impact unless there was something else behind it. He wanted to help Oswald, and at the same time he also thought about whether his friend would perhaps be better off if he didn't help. He wondered if he was doing all this out of selfishness or love, or maybe even both. But he did not know and he hated not knowing something – especially when it was about himself. But maybe his head was still a little dense because he had not yet made up for the lack of sleep. The few hours he had slept that night had not been enough by far, and maybe it would take a few more days before he could sleep through the night again. At least the headaches had disappeared.

Bullock, who had made something completely different out of the small scolding glance and Oswald's apology for his late appearance, suddenly pulled a disgusted face and then demonstratively pushed away the half-eaten pancake with extra syrup.

Meanwhile, Oswald had sat down and Martin had jumped up from his seat to give his father a quick hug before returning to his place next to Ivy, who had just decorated a vegan pancake with bananas and blueberry sauce, because Martin was interested to see if it tasted any different.

Bruce and Jeremiah sat across the table from Edward's seat and talked about Jeremiah's work. Besides Oswald and Edward, Bruce was the only one who wore completely new clothes, possibly due to the sudden appearance of his butler. He wore a dark blue shirt, with the top buttons left open and the sleeves rolled up, and dark gray dress pants. On his wrist a silver Rolex watch with black dial gleamed, the watch of his father.

Edward had observed the hug between Martin and Oswald with a frown. He had already been wondering what the orphan boy was still doing at Oswald's side and he decided to talk to his boyfriend about it later – when they weren't eating pancakes with two cops and a billionaire.

With an excited grin like a son presenting his mother with a good school grade (even though Edward himself always associated this situation from his childhood with fear), he placed a plate of two pancakes and a cup of coffee in front of Oswald and then, his hands raised up to his navel in anticipation, remained standing beside him.

First Oswald glanced up at Edward, then thanked his boyfriend, but when Edward still did not sit down, he took a closer look at the plate and the cup. He pulled the coffee closer, peeked into the cup and frowned as he noticed the picture drawn in the foam. "There's an umbrella in my coffee." He looked up at Edward, questioning. Edward, in turn, grinned broadly, then bounced twice euphorically up and down on his heels before nodding and replying: "A penguin was too difficult for the first try, or at least more difficult than I expected, but I'll try again next time."

"Thanks, but you really shouldn't have, Ed. You don't have to make that much effort for me." Oswald smiled gratefully and Edward finally sat down next to him.

"I like doing these things," he replied with sparkling eyes, which reminded Oswald very much of a dog that demanded a pat on the head.

However, since the coffee had reminded him of the one-man riddle hunt earlier this morning, Oswald decided to change the subject there.

"Oh, by the way, Ed, were the riddles on an empty stomach really necessary?"

The corners of Edward's mouth fell and with the smile the sparkle in his eyes disappeared as well. "Did they displease you?"

"Um... displease is perhaps the wrong word, and I am very grateful for the beautiful gifts." Oswald did not want to hurt his friend, but he also failed to know how to gently explain to him that he was not a big fan of riddles. "But perhaps we can agree that in the future you will wait with the riddles until after breakfast?"

Edward interlocked his hands on the table. "Very well. I... will try. I just thought a few brain-teasers in the morning would be a good way to stimulate the cerebral cortex."

With the intention of cheering him up, Oswald put one hand on his boyfriend's. "I know you meant well, Ed. You work so hard you make me feel bad." Oswald smiled in shame.

"You don't have to," Edward immediately insisted. "I... just want to show you how much I love you." Gifts and gestures were simply Edward's way of expressing his love. 

"Thank you." The other man lowered his fluttering eyelids before his gaze shot up to Edward again. His cheeks red, his mouth adorned with a smile. "The letter and the clothes made me very happy." And that was all Edward needed – sincere gratitude for his efforts – something Oswald, unlike the many other people he knew and despised, was always ready to give.

" _Mazel tov_ ," Harvey interjected and took a sip from a silver flask. "Now can we finally talk about this whacko Valeska so I can leave this bizarre gathering?" He gave a nod to Jeremiah, who had looked up at the word 'whacko'. "No offense."

Jeremiah raised one hand. He seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with the situation. "It's all right," he replied anyway.

"So, Oswald, has Jerome told you anything about what he's up to?" Jim now asked, put his empty coffee cup on the table and immediately thanked Alfred, who offered to pour him another one. The butler had taken off the plaid apron he had borrowed from Edward when Bruce had asked him to make breakfast for _everyone_ , including the devil Cobblepot and his whole ménage.

Oswald gave Jeremiah a ponderous look, then leaned closer to Jim, which in turn prompted Edward to lean over to the two policemen as well. "He made it very clear to me that his brother is a liar who made his childhood a living hell, and he despises him for it. But according to his own statement, he is not seeking revenge, but something else – driveled something about being an agent of chaos, blah blah."

Jim frowned. "Interesting. His brother told us something very similar when we found him."

Edward gave Jeremiah an analytical glance across the table, who had meanwhile started talking to Bruce again. "Which means one of them is lying." He smiled with an excitement that only a fan of riddles would feel.

"Well, you don't have to be a genius for that. Jerome 's a nutcase, everything that pops from his lips is lies," grunted Harvey, but Jim and Oswald seemed skeptical.

"Jerome is not the type to lie," Jim argued, and Oswald added: "Also, he had no apparent reason to lie."

Harvey raised both palms. "Oh, sorry, didn't know you were best buds. As far as I remember, the clown more than proved his acting talent at your first meeting. Why should this time be any different?"

The three of them began to quietly continue their discussion while Edward's attention drifted more and more towards Bruce and Jeremiah, who had started talking about changes the engineer wanted to make to the power generators. But at the same time, Edward was also interested in the conversation between his boyfriend and the two policemen, so he constantly threw his head from left to right, frustrated that two interesting conversations had to take place in parallel.

"You have to think of it like this-" Jeremiah took the syrup bottle and surrounded it with four cups, which he took from himself and his seatmates. "The syrup is the main generator that communicates with all the surrounding ones. But if the main generator were to be damaged, the communication network would no longer function. I want to change the program of the generators now to the extent that they are able to make one of the remaining generators the new main generator and adapt their communication network independently." He took the porcelain jar with the sugar and crumbled two cubes between his fingers before scattering a small cloud of sugar crystals around one of the four cups. "Although the communication network would be restored with this, it could not persist permanently, since the range and power would decrease with each damaged generator. The program would therefore have to be additionally adapted in such a way that it automatically recognizes which buildings are worth supplying with electricity and which can be disregarded." While talking, he had put away the syrup and one of the four cups before he surrounded the other three with a big cloud of sugar.

"And that's possible?" Bruce was completely amazed by what he had just heard.

"I'm still fixing a few technical flaws at the moment, but yes, it could be done."

Not knowing what to reply, Bruce just grinned overwhelmed and stared down at the demonstration artwork on the tabletop.

Behind the two young men, someone suddenly cleared his throat and they turned their heads questioningly to Alfred, who stood there with his hands folded on his back, looking back and forth between the tabletop and Jeremiah in a scolding manner. "Did your parents not teach you any manners? I hope you intend to clean up this mess, mate."

"Alfred!", Bruce admonished, thinking that the subject of parents could open up old wounds for Jeremiah, but instead Jeremiah made an apologetic grimace and then stopped Bruce's rebuke with a flat hand. "He's right. My apologies." First Jeremiah put the cups to the side, then he wiped the sugar off the table with a napkin, caught it in another, which Alfred then demanded with an extended hand and patronizingly spoken "That's more like it," before discarding it.

"Jeremiah, I'm not an expert in engineering, but I think I'm still right in calling you a brilliant thinker and an asset to Gotham. I wish there was a way I could support your work. I know the company you work for is already receiving funding from City Hall, but maybe Wayne Enterprise could become a sponsor of your work as well – together we could do great things in Gotham." There was so much, so many ideas that Bruce suddenly found possible with Jeremiah's help. He could use a smart and skilful man like him to help him get closer to his goal of making Gotham a better place.

Jeremiah lowered his gaze for a moment, he seemed almost ashamed by the billionaire's offer, but then his eyes met Bruce's again and he nodded, a coy smile on his lips. "That... I would appreciate."

Bruce, quite the businessman, reached out a hand to him. "Then here's to working together." And Jeremiah took it after a short hesitation, not breaking eye contact with the other man once during their handshake.

Gordon, Bullock and Oswald had meanwhile come to the conclusion that it would be profitable for everyone present if Jerome were caught and that it might therefore be a good idea for them to combine their forces. This time Gordon was also sure that Oswald would not betray the GCDP as easily as he had done in the case of Hugo Strange. The self-declared 'King of Gotham' seemed to be seriously afraid of Jerome. And Oswald did, in fact, not intend to betray the policemen; instead, he hoped from this cooperation that the 'righteous Jim Gordon' would overlook all of Oswald's and Edward's business in the Narrows. Of course, Jim had no operational authority in the independent Narrows, but when had such things ever prevented him from doing what he thought was right?

Everyone was startled when an angry presence approached, stomped up the stairs to the apartment and slammed the door. When she appeared in the kitchen, she looked like one of the three Erinyes, a goddess of vengeance, and everyone gulped as she found her target in Jim Gordon, who immediately jumped from his seat with his hands up.

"Lee!"

Harvey turned away, fearing Lee and pitying Jim. "Oh, sweet Jesus."

"So, this is where you are! Do you know how long I've been looking for you?! You stay out all night while people are dying in the streets, and all I get from you is a crappy text message that says 'I'm sleeping elsewhere'?!" She had her cell phone in her hand, on the display said text message. In her eyes shone the tears of a woman who thought she would never see her boyfriend again.

Jim tried to justify his behavior. "What was I supposed to say? I'm staying at Nygma's in the Narrows?"

She growled briefly and then threw the cell phone at him, which Jim could barely catch. "For starters! Afterwards you could have explained why. Are you throwing yourself back into an abyss with your eyes open, James Gordon?"

"It's different!"

"What's different!?"

"We are trying to find Jerome Valeska," Jim finally explained.

Lee pointed to Edward. "With the sociopath who killed Kristen and..." she sniffled, "our child..." She could not finish the sentence. Perhaps Edward Nygma had not actively killed their child, but by ensuring that Jim was brought to Blackgate, he was the most guilty in Lee's eyes. 

Edward intervened, one finger raised. "I take no responsibility for the latter."

But Lee ignored him, pointing instead to Oswald. "And _him?!_ "

Oswald frowned, his lips slightly open in bewilderment. So he was not even worthy of a description. This visibly scratched at his false ego.

"And what is Bruce doing here? Are you dragging him straight down with you? Is it not enough that you put yourself in danger?" She was in despair, didn't understand why Jim constantly believed he had to sacrifice himself for everything and everyone, why he couldn't even once think about the people he would leave behind if something happened to him. Jim Gordon was selfish in his selflessness and this frustrated Lee.

Bruce wanted to say something in his defense, but he was frozen like a bunny in front of the snake. Alfred, on the other hand, seemed partly satisfied with what Lee had said, because he too felt that hunting Jerome was too dangerous, and partly angry because Lee assumed that Bruce had not decided to be here for himself.

Jim gesticulated with both hands, taking a few steps towards his girlfriend. "Lee, please--"

"What?! You wanna tell me to calm down?"

Yes, that was indeed what Jim had wanted to say, so now he was silent, embarrassed, but also a little annoyed. He had to do this. He had to.

"How did you even find me?"

"You're not the only one capable of making new acquaintances," Lee replied snappishly as Selina Kyle entered the kitchen behind her, raising her hand with a welcoming "Yo, whassup?"

Bruce rose from his seat, smiling. "Selina." He had not seen the thief in a week. Jeremiah, on the other hand, now looked back and forth between Bruce and Selina with lowered brows, wondering how Bruce knew the young woman in the dirty clothes.

"Lee, I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was. I didn't want to worry you."

"You just wanted me to be afraid you'd bleed to death out there in some alley." Lee visibly tried to keep up a stern grimace, but her pent-up panic was more and more pushed to the outside through her facial expressions. Her lips trembled and her eyes were wet.

Jim calmly grabbed his girlfriend by the upper arms and leaned slightly towards her. "I'm really sorry." He meant it.

Lee pulled up her nose, then with gentle toughness slapped Jim's arms away and sat down in Jim's former seat next to Penguin and Harvey. "Okay. Then tell me about your plans."

"What!?," it came from both Jim and Oswald, while everyone else raised their eyebrows or cast questioning glances.

Lee had her arms crossed in front of her chest. "If you can put yourself in danger, so can I. I will help you." She smiled smugly. "After all, you can always use a doctor."

\---

After breakfast, Lee, Jim and Harvey made their way to the GCPD, Jeremiah followed Ivy and Martin who, under Magpie's guidance, visited some clothing stores in the Narrows before Ivy wanted to visit some pharmacies. Magpie had to be paid for this favor by Oswald with the tiepin she had tried to steal from him yesterday. Bruce followed the small group together with Alfred. He was interested in the current condition of the Narrows and did not want to leave Jeremiah unprotected. And Selina roamed the streets looking for clues to Jerome's whereabouts. This meant that Oswald and Edward were left alone.

"Freeze will set up a lab nearby. Firefly woke up from her coma, but she still needs further treatment because of her laceration," Oswald explained as he entered the empty bar under Edward's apartment, where Edward had just attached a large cork board to the wall of an office-like adjoining room.

"Did you tell them we're going to work with the GCPD?" Freeze didn't seem too happy to see Jim and Harvey in the Narrows yesterday.

"Not yet." Oswald looked at the snippets of the morning paper that Edward had neatly sorted on a table. In addition to articles from today, there were also articles from other days: Jerome's last escape with a close-up of his stapled face, but also articles on Jerome's first crimes, an article on the Tetch murders, one on the disappearance of Jonathan Crane and one on the crimes of his father Gerald Crane, as well as several articles on the new power generators. Next to the snippets were two containers, one of which held a roll of red cord and a pair of scissors, and the other one was filled with green push-pins. In addition, a black felt-tip pen, a glue stick, and a stack of blank flashcards were lying at the edge of the table.

Edward came to the table, thoughtfully selecting the first snippets for his collage. "Tell me, Oswald, why is the child still with you?"

Oswald pulled his brows together in perplexity, confused about whether it was not clear that he would keep his son with him. But then it dawned on him. He had still not told Edward that he had adopted Martin. Overwhelmed, he tore open his eyes and lips. "Um..."

Edward tilted his head in suspicion. "What is it, Oswald?"

"There's something I should have told you earlier." He faltered again, despairing at the question of why it was so difficult to tell him. But the reason was quite clear. It was because he knew it would displease Edward.

"What?", he kept pushing.

Oswald gulped, keeping his eyes slightly turned to the ground. "I... adopted Martin."

"You did _what?!_ "

"If I had not adopted him, he would have been taken away from me and--" Oswald tried to explain himself but Edward cut him off.

"And you didn't think it necessary to inform me!?"

"I knew you were against it."

"Of course I am! Tell me, Oswald, in the short time he has been with you, how many times has his life been in danger?"

Oswald slammed his jaw shut. Of course Edward had a point: it was dangerous. But he would protect Martin.

But Edward was not finished yet. "Haven't you learned the lesson yet? You, of all people, should know how hard it is to protect a civilian, given... _what we are_."

Oswald took a step back. The reference to the death of his mother hit him like a bullet. But even when Edward realized how much he had hurt Oswald with it, he remained adamant.

"I can protect him." Oswald sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"I have no sympathy for someone who makes the same mistake twice, even if it's you." Edward turned away from Oswald, a few newspaper photos and push-pins in his hand and placed them on the cork board in an order that only he understood. "Perhaps you could learn something if you listened more to your head and less to your heart." Edward did say that, but since he had been with Oswald, the balance of his own head and heart decisions had been inclined more and more toward the heart. It overwhelmed and confused him at times, but he could not help it, not when it came to Oswald. He would be a hypocrite if he now demanded that Oswald should ignore his heart.

When he returned to the table to take the next snippets, he looked at Oswald for a long time. His friend was angry, sat with averted eyes on a chair to the left of the entrance and scraped the floor with his cane. "I am not saying that it is wrong in itself to choose your heart." He adjusted his glasses. "I for one do not regret it." Back at the cork board he pinned the next snippets. "I just don't want history to repeat itself. I never want to see you in this state again. You were... exhausting – to say the least."

He heard Oswald exhaling very quietly behind him, the thought of his helpless and depressed state had amused him for a moment. Edward smiled.

When Oswald finally spoke, his voice was soft. "If you really don't want history to repeat itself, then help me make sure it doesn't."

Edward froze as he suddenly felt two hands on his shoulders. He was overwhelmed, had not noticed when Oswald had suddenly got up, did not know why he had not heard his footsteps. He stood behind him, touching his shoulders, his forehead hovering between Edward's shoulder blades. It was just like his hallucination back then. Only this time he had no window in front of him, so he had no certainty that Oswald was really behind him. A shiver ran down his back, discharging as a frightened gasp as Oswald's warm breath, in speaking, brushed against the fabric of Edward's lime-green shirt, which he was wearing with a checkered tie. "Help me, Ed. You're the only one I trust."

Edward turned his gaze to the side in shame, yet did not dare to turn his head far enough to see Oswald. Instead, he looked to the wall. "Considering the fact that the task of taking care of you, should anything happen to the child, would fall back on me anyway, I don't think I have a choice."

He heard Oswald breathing contentedly, felt a slight heaviness between his shoulder blades, probably because Oswald had lowered his forehead against him. "Thank you."

"Can I..." Edward turned around, very slowly, and he smiled when he actually saw Oswald standing there, his hands still hovering at the height of his face, "kiss you?"

At first Oswald was startled, but he got hold of himself faster than Edward had expected. "No," he replied, smiling strangely, a bit as if he were keeping a secret.

Edward lowered his head and took a step back, ready to give in to his friend's answer. He was all the more surprised when Oswald's right hand caressed his cheek, and he widened his eyes when he felt the other's lips. With a soft smacking sound, their mouths parted and Oswald's face immediately changed to a mischievous smile.

Edward cleared his throat. "This was... unexpected."

"Pardon," Oswald replied in an unserious voice. "Forgive my overzealousness."

"Already forgiven", it came from Edward's lips in a single breath, without much sound. He still seemed to have not quite arrived in the situation.

Oswald tapped him twice on the collarbone. "Let me help you with this." And while Edward was still confused, Oswald ran to the table and took some of the snippets to pin them to the cork board. 

For about ten minutes, they worked silently side by side, and Oswald was frustrated to notice that Edward regularly moved pieces Oswald had pinned to the board. It seemed as if they were not 'collage-compatible'. Since Oswald knew, however, that his friend had a certain obsession with order and organization, he didn't remark that it bothered him and at some point, when Edward was already pulling the first red threads over the cork board, he stopped pinning snippets and picked up the black felt marker instead. On the cork board he then scribbled the word 'maniac' over the picture of Jerome.

Edward looked at the word, which was half smeared across the picture, as if it were a particularly big spider. "Oswald? Would you please not write over the articles. The flashcards are for notes – and these do not include insults."

At that moment, something in Oswald's mind burst, for he suddenly got up on tiptoe and before Edward could even realize what was happening, he wrote a word on his forehead using the felt pen.

"You didn't--," Edward said in a mixture of threat and disbelief.

"I did," Oswald replied smugly.

"What did you write?"

"Who knows." Oswald didn't care if that had been childish. He was angry! Period!

For a moment they just looked into each other's eyes. The scolding gaze of Edward collided with the stubborn expression of Oswald. But then, suddenly and in a jerky movement, Edward tried to reach for the black felt pen, but Oswald's grip was firm. They indulged in an immature fight for the pen for a short time, but finally Edward gave up with a hiss.

"All right – have your fun," he exclaimed and then stomped out of the room and into the bar, where he examined his forehead in the polished tap. "Did you really write 'dork' on my forehead?"

"In French," Oswald remarked, still with a triumphant smile that grew even wider as Edward turned his angry face toward him, the word 'connard' written in thick black letters just above his eyebrows.

"That doesn't make it classy," he growled, but Oswald merely shrugged his shoulders and then disappeared back into the adjoining room with an "I'll go write some flashcards" and a raised arm, while Edward tried desperately to get the color off his forehead.

Tbc


	26. Spin the wheel of misfortune!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bizarre group plans its actions against Jerome Valeska, and Nygma hosts a riddle show in the Narrows.

Chapter 26

**Spin the wheel of misfortune!**

"My contacts are reliable!"

"I've sent unis to the hangar. _No one_ has seen Jerome there."

Selina and Gordon entered the bar, arguing.

"Are you saying my source is lying?" hissed the thief, turned to Gordon and tapped him on the chest with a finger.

Jim sighed. He was not in the mood for this discussion. "Okay. Okay. Let's assume you're right, and Jerome was indeed at the hangar. Then how come none of the staff saw him?"

"I don't know. Isn't it your job to find that out, _cop_?"

Behind the two, who were still arguing, Bullock and Lee also entered the bar. The doctor had been serious when she said she would join the plan.

"Is it just me, or is everyone acting tense right now?" Bullock frowned. His eyes floated back and forth between Oswald and Edward. The little mafia boss sat in the chair to the right of the entrance, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face marked by childish rage. Edward, on the other hand, was standing at the table in the middle of the room, his gaze directed at the corkboard, his arms likewise crossed. One could not tell whether he was angry or merely thinking. The French word that Oswald had written on his forehead in a childlike rage had disappeared with the use of half a bottle of soap but had left behind a strong redness that, to the uninformed, looked like a rash.

"Did you find anything?" Edward asked without turning away from the corkboard.

Gordon and Selina exchanged an intense look. "Yes and no."

"You're back," it suddenly came from the door and the group around Bruce and Jeremiah entered the room. They had fulfilled their plan and provided new clothes for Ivy, Martin, and Jeremiah, while Bruce had been horrified by the crumbling state of the Narrows. The Tetch virus had made its strongest impact here in the impoverished slums and Bruce was ashamed that he had been manipulated into pressing the detonator. He felt the desire to help the people who had suffered as a result of his act, but because of the handover of the Narrows to Edward Nygma, he was not sure if his help would even reach the people. On their way back, they had also made a short stop at a herbal pharmacy and Ivy had insisted on going in alone and had come out of the store 45 minutes later with a satisfied grin.

Ivy and Martin had dressed rather plainly. Ivy wore leaf-green pants with a faintly protruding tendril pattern and a dark green blazer with the zipper slightly opened, so you could see the black top underneath. Martin, on the other hand, wore dark blue pants and a white shirt with thin black vertical stripes. In comparison to them, Jeremiah's choice of clothes made him look like a courting peacock, even though his basic clothing seemed relatively tame. He wore a pair of trousers and a waistcoat with pinstripes, the conservative business look. Perhaps he hoped that this would appeal to the billionaire on his left. This interesting young man, who showed him such trust, appreciation, and friendship that Jeremiah, who had never had a friend before, could not help but fall in love with him immediately. Anyone else would have said it was far too early for love and Jeremiah's feelings would verge on an unhealthy obsession, but the only person whose opinion still interested Jeremiah was Bruce Wayne. But when Bruce had shown little interest in what kind of wardrobe Jeremiah chose, he had added a magenta shirt and a rhinestone black jacket to the stiff attire that practically screamed: _look at me_. The rhinestones were unevenly distributed over the shimmering satin fabric like stars in the firmament or the glittering waves of the night-black sea. The outfit was topped off with a black silk tie, which was also rhinestone covered, a magenta pocket square, and pink-black oxford shoes. The colors of the dress shoes were separated by a playful wing cap with lyra perforation.

"Any news about Jerome?", Bruce immediately asked, turning with a smile to Selina, who had one hand on her hip. Her leather clothes crackled pleasantly.

"My contacts tell me that the freak was seen at the airship hangar but...," she pointed to Jim with an annoyed expression, " _Detective Gordon_ disagrees."

Bruce didn't have to say anything for Jim to start explaining himself. "I already told you that I sent a squad to the hangar. No one has seen Jerome."

"And I already told you: my intel is solid," Selina hissed back.

"And what am I supposed to do now, in your opinion?"

Bruce intervened before Selina could extend her claws. "We should at least keep it in mind and think about what Jerome might want with a blimp." In speaking, he had approached Edward's collage, which had already grown to impressive dimensions. Numerous notes and even some hand-painted sketches had been added. Bruce took the felt marker from the table and one of the index cards. But before he had written 'airship hangar', Oswald's irritated voice resounded from the chair.

"You would do better not to offer Edward your help in making a collage – and certainly not to write anything on it."

Edward turned in Oswald's direction with a growl. "I did let you write something on it though, didn't I?" It was strange. The breakfast that morning, when he had decided to shower Oswald with love every second of his life from now on, only seemed like a faint memory to him.

Hissing, Oswald stretched out his thin neck. "Yes, after you wrote it down on a separate piece of paper first."

"Because you only wrote trivialities and insults!"

"At least I didn't behave like a _petty collage dictator_ – with your stupid _index cards_ and your stupid _systematic_." One could hear from Oswald's angry words how much he would have liked to simply work on the collage with Edward in peace and quiet.

"Oh, _fantastic_! So we are back to insulting? Why don't you call me by that word again, huh? The one you **wrote** **on my forehead _like a child!_** " In his rage, he had reached for the paper on which he had previously written Oswald the various notes. He rolled it up into a loose rod and hit it several times on the edge of the table. On the one hand, he did this to underscore his position; on the other hand, it just felt good to unleash his rage at the helpless table and imagine it to be Oswald.

He, in turn, suddenly had a smug expression on his face. Brows raised, a smirk on the lips, the chin placed on the chest. "Look who's the one throwing tantrums now."

" _I am not throwing a tantrum!_ ", Edward protested like a petulant child. He breathed heavily and with his mouth open. With every strong exhalation, his cheeks puffed up.

While Edward and Oswald murdered each other with piercing glances, Bruce had just written the word on the index card and pinned it to the collage. Now he, Jim, Harvey, Alfred, and Lee stood there and pondered about the blimp. Jim decided there was only one way to find out if Selina's source was telling the truth: he had to go to the hangar himself. Harvey was immediately ready to accompany him. However, when Bruce and Jeremiah also wanted to come, the policemen refused and promised to contact them immediately if they found out anything new. Alfred had protested at first because he felt the police were using him and Bruce as cheap babysitters for Jeremiah Valeska, but Bruce had accepted Jim's decision unusually quickly.

\---

And while Jeremiah and Bruce passed the time with an old chessboard, Alfred put on some tea, and Lee talked to Selina and Ivy about their criminal life choices, Edward and Oswald had been so exhausted by their argument that Harvey and Jim found them upon their arrival dozing in a booth, leaning head-to-head against each other.

Harvey turned up his nose at this sight. "First you and Lee, now those two. Makes you feel a relationship only works if you actually hate each other."

Jim had a weird smile. "Then you'd be happily married for years."

"Maybe the problem is that I simply hate too many people," Harvey argued with a dirty smirk.

During their visit to the hangar, they had found no evidence that Jerome Valeska had been there. In fact, the workers had even shown the police the security tapes of the main hall, despite the lack of evidence. So they were back to square one. All that was left to tie Jerome to the airship hangar was the testimony of a street kid. No judge in all of Gotham would issue them a search warrant for the hangar based on this and this alone.

Even the BOLOs they had been running for Jerome, Tetch, and Crane had not yet provided any information. It was as if the three men had vanished into thin air. At least there was one piece of good news: apart from the three leaders, only a handful of Arkham escapees were still at large. Most of them had been so confused by their sudden freedom that they were captured pretty quickly. Others had raged through the city but had surrendered immediately when police officers showed up. Only a few had fought against their arrest. Jim did not know whether Jerome had merely wanted to create chaos by releasing the inmates or whether he was pursuing a larger goal, but he was relieved and a little proud that the GCPD had managed to get the situation under control so quickly. He was all the more frustrated, however, because they were not getting anywhere in their search for Jerome and his two accomplices. After all, he had no idea yet that he would be facing the self-proclaimed agent of chaos again very soon.

As the evening approached, the bar gradually filled with people. A man, wearing a simple black apron, stepped behind the counter, organized his workplace, and then walked over to the booth where Edward and Oswald were still sleeping to give the former a gentle shake.

"Mr. Riddler," he spoke in a hushed voice. "Mr. Riddler, the first guests will be arriving soon." And as Edward winced, he added, "Preparations for the Riddle Night are still to be made."

Moaning, Edward straightened up and the now missing support also tore Oswald from his slumber. A glance at his wristwatch told Edward that it was already five o'clock. He was expected on stage in two hours.

"What? Riddle Night?", Oswald muttered and, still dazed from sleep, pulled a grimace. "No, please..." He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. "How long was I asleep?"

"It's 5:00." Edward got out of the booth, stretched his back, and freed his neck from the crippling effect of the uncomfortable sleeping position. Apparently his body had finally reclaimed the sleep that he had denied it last night.

"5:00?" Oswald moaned. He would not get a wink of sleep tonight.

After Oswald, too, had fought his way out of the booth, he found himself gazing around the darkened bar, which was illuminated only by two glass chandeliers burning in soft orange, in bewilderment.

"Where is everybody?"

The bartender pointed to the door to the adjacent room. "Two men and a child are over there. They said they were working with the Riddler." The bartender had lowered his eyes, and Oswald sensed that he was not welcome. If he wanted the Narrows to be devoted to him as well, he probably had to increase his presence here as soon as possible.

"Are _you_ also working with the Riddler?"

Oswald wrinkled his nose. It bothered him that his presence was not wanted. And even though he knew it was not fair of him, he envied Edward for the respect that the people of the Narrows showed him. He had been the one who had decided that Edward should administer the Narrows, and besides, he got enough respect as Mayor of Gotham and boss of the largest criminal organization in the entire city. But he was still not satisfied. He felt like the ancient King Erysichthon, who, according to myth, drew the wrath of the grain goddess Demeter upon himself because he, driven by hubris, had defied the gods, and whom the goddess, therefore, inflicted with an insatiable hunger. No matter how much of his accumulated wealth Erysichthon spent on food, he did not get satisfied and one day, it is said, he ended up devouring himself. What a loaf of bread or cheese had been for Erysichthon, was for Oswald recognition and respect. He craved it like a hungry man and simply could not be satisfied. A single wry look, a single rebellious subordinate was enough to turn the respectable mayor and feared mob boss back into a starving beggar who hated the world because it could not fill the hole inside him.

Oswald tilted his head to the side with a smirk. "We are partners." The barkeeper could do whatever he wanted with that statement.

With his head held high, he walked past the man, played the indifferent, and followed Edward into the adjacent room where Gordon and Bullock leaned against the table and had a lively discussion. Martin sat on the chair next to the door and let his legs dangle. When Oswald stepped over the threshold, he grinned at him.

"Anything new?"

"No. The guy just disappeared into thin air," snorted Harvey.

"If he indeed is after his brother, then sooner or later he will have to show himself," argued Gordon.

"Yeah... but the longer he doesn't show his Halloween-mug, the less I want him to show up here all of a sudden," grumbled Harvey.

"We should work out a strategy in case he does show up here," Gordon suggested, then gave Edward a stern look. "A strategy that includes that Harvey and I can use our weapons again."

Edward raised his palms to the ceiling and shrugged his shoulders. "If you feel that two handguns are enough against someone like Jerome Valeska."

And while Edward revealed to the two policemen that the Narrows had enough firepower to supply them all with heavy weapons, Oswald approached his son.

"Do you know where the others are?"

Martin nodded and then began writing in his notebook. _Ivy wanted to visit the firewoman at the doctor's office. The two boys and the old man are upstairs._

"Did Ivy say what she wanted from Firefly?"

Martin shook his head and began to write again. _Is she in trouble?_

Oswald chuckled. "No. You like her, don't you?"

The boy nodded firmly.

"She's not in trouble," Oswald repeated.

"Oh, right. Could you two take your child somewhere else? I don't think finding a killer is something the boy should be involved in," Gordon said. He did it loud enough that Oswald could hear it, but he had his eyes on Edward, who now drew his brows in discontent. Jim Gordon had just referred to Martin as his and Oswald's child. He had to process that first.

"I'm the one who decides what my son can be involved in," Oswald said and did so for the sole reason that he did not want to show weakness in front of the two policemen. Actually, while he was speaking, he hinted at Martin to jump down from his chair. He was going to look for Ivy next, to finally get the apology over and done with, which he had been putting off since yesterday.

Edward, however, had entirely different plans.

"I'm going to get ready now," Edward said and straightened his jacket.

"For the 'Riddle Night'? I never thought there were so many riddle enthusiasts in the Narrows," said Oswald with an incredulous smile.

Edward had a knowing grin on his lips. "This is not just any riddle night."

When Oswald then lowered his eyebrows inquiringly, Edward merely replied in an amused manner, "You'll see." He longed to impress Oswald with his performance tonight.

"Riddle Night? Are you sure this is a good idea? Jerome could use it to enter the Narrows unnoticed," Jim argued, but Edward seemed unimpressed.

"Then it would be smart to prepare for his appearance."

As if this sentence had aroused new enthusiasm in him, Jim now took out his cell phone and made a few calls. Meanwhile, Harvey glanced intently at a map of the Narrows that they had taken from Edward's apartment.

Edward and Oswald watched with a satisfied smile as Harvey and Jim planned an operation in the Narrows as if the island was still part of Gotham. Their smiles widened even more when Harvey suddenly got a call from the commissioner, who made it clear to the police captain that they could not proceed against Jerome on Narrow's turf – not without permission from Edward Nygma and not without the approval of some high-level politicians.

Harvey growled and then pulled Jim aside, whispering. After Harvey had passed on the commissioner's words to him, the detective groaned and rolled his eyes before turning to Edward and Oswald. The joy on their faces disgusted Jim and it scratched his pride as a law enforcement officer that he should now ask two criminals for their permission to imprison another criminal. But eventually, there were other ways to catch Jerome.

"We'll take Jeremiah and Bruce with us and leave the Narrows," he announced.

Oswald winked his eyelashes, sneering. "Oh, Jim, old friend, is your pride really so important to you that you can't even bring a little 'pretty please' over your lips, even though you know very well that we have a better chance of catching Jerome here?"

"We will take Jeremiah to the GCPD. It's the best-guarded building in Gotham."

"Exactly: in _Gotham_ ," Edward replied with a grin and then raised his hands. "But if you wish to leave, that is, of course, up to you."

Harvey growled. "What makes you so sure Jerome's even gonna come here? Until just now, not even the commissioner knew we were here."

"Word travels fast in the Narrows." He grinned superior. "And perhaps I myself made sure this morning that word of your presence here reached all the way to Gotham."

Like a cornered elk bull, Harvey stormed forward, his hands extended like horns, grabbing Edward by the collar. "Do you have a death wish!? The guy could drop by here at any time! It's a damn miracle he hasn't come here already to massacre us all while we're enjoying coffee and pancakes!"

The violence of the police captain did not diminish Edward's grin in the least. "There's no room for casualties in my plan, and if Jerome was already in the Narrows, I'd know about it." The policemen must have thought he was talking about setting up sentries who would report to him as soon as they saw Jerome. After all, they could not have known that Edward had already done more than a little shopping this morning. Luckily, the construction was controlled by human hands until his show tonight, otherwise, Jim and Harvey would have had an unpleasant surprise on their little trip to the airship hangar.

"Harvey!" Jim intervened, separated his friend from Edward's neck while pointing his chin in Martin's direction. As the adopted son of a mafia boss, he had probably seen worse, but that didn't mean he wasn't still a little kid, no older than 9 or 10.

Only after Harvey had finally backed off, did Jim turn to Edward: "One thing I don't understand: we started this operation to have the element of surprise on our side. Why are you giving him the opportunity to ambush us instead?"

Excitement rushed through Edward's body, making his hands slide into each other like magnets. The long dimples framing his face were mocking. "I'm not surprised you don't understand, Jimbo. You don't see the full picture yet."

Jim clicked his tongue. "Then tell me about the full picture." He loathed just how happy Edward was to know more than others and how impressed he was with his own knowledge.

Edward didn't just go, he _pranced_ to the collage and while keeping his gaze fixed on Jim, he tapped his left forefinger against one of the index cards that had thick black letters that read 'no planner/friend of chaos', a quote he had taken from Oswald's story. "You cannot so easily set a trap for someone like Jerome Valeska. He is creative and intuitive. He will always find a way to turn his disadvantage into an advantage, especially if we attack him in familiar surroundings – wherever he is hiding. There is nothing he wants. No real target. Except one."

Jim nodded slowly. "His brother – Jeremiah."

"Correct." Edward happily rolled the R. "Since Jerome escaped from Arkham, he has not participated in the looting or killing of the other escapees. All he cares about is his brother, and we can use that to our advantage."

"By using him as bait." Jim had put a low growl in his voice. He couldn't risk anything happening to Jeremiah. He had brought him into the Narrows to protect him, not to use him – at least that's what he told himself.

"By waiting here for Jerome. Prepared. And use every advantage the Narrows have to offer," Edward corrected.

"And how will you keep Jerome from showing up here with an army of followers and snatching Jeremiah in the resulting chaos?"

Edward giggled. "I am about to prepare something he will not be able to resist."

With one hand on his best friend's shoulder, Harvey pulled Jim back a little. "I still think we have a better chance at the precinct."

Jim was no longer sure of that. He kept squinting at the grinning Edward. He seemed so confident in his plans, and Jim had to admit that Edward was intelligent enough to make his plans work. Conflicted, the detective pulled a grimace. "A'right. Suppose we help you: what exactly would the plan be? And this time I want all the details."

\---

To Oswald's astonishment, Edward had asked Martin to help him with the preparations for his Riddle Night. And when Oswald had threatened him that Edward was not to include Martin in his plan, he had assured him that nothing would happen to the boy. He only wanted him as an assistant for his show, and at Jerome's appearance, he was supposed to go to Freeze and Firefly for safety. That, in turn, had pleased Oswald. Apparently Edward really wanted to make an effort to help him with Martin – as if they were a family. And Edward was right when he said that now that Jerome knew who Martin was, the boy was safest when he was with them.

But whether Firefly could even help them with their plan against Jerome was not yet clear, so Oswald went to the doctor where she was receiving treatment. Ivy and, as he had learned from Gordon, Lee had also made their way there.

A doctor in the Narrows had to be imagined as a mechanic who suddenly had the idea that a human body and that of a car were not so different and since then had preferred to work on organs than on engines. Such a man opened the door for Oswald and led him into his cramped apartment. Every shelf and most of the floor space were filled with all kinds of equipment, including glass flasks, books, medical instruments, and boxes of bottles and tubes containing colorful ingredients.

"Are you with the three women," asked the man with the calloused hands, and Oswald affirmed it with a raised smile, whereupon the man led him into a tiny storage room, in the middle of which a bed protruded from the jungle of boxes. Like the back room of a drug hole. More storage room than sickbay. Next to the bed was a chair on which Lee Thompkins was sitting. Ivy sat next to Firefly on the bed, one leg angled, both hands wrapped around a cup of herbal tea, the scent of which could not mask the dusty smell of the room, from the ceiling of which a single naked bulb hung.

"How is she?" he asked Lee and not Ivy, who then briefly lowered the corners of her mouth.

"She will be fine," the doctor assured him. "Fortunately, the wound was not deep and the mind control seems to have caused no permanent damage.

"Fantastic. There's no way I can do without one of my best weapons tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Ed and Jim are discussing the details of our plan to finally take Jerome down."

"You mean arrest him?" Lee corrected with a knowing eye.

Oswald put on a fake smile. "Whatever the situation demands."

"Did you say 'Jim'? You don't mean Jim Gordon, the cop, do you?" Firefly asked, one hand on her still aching head. Her gaze was distorted in agony, but whether it was related to her wound or the prospect of working with Jim Gordon, Oswald could only guess.

Oswald closed his eyes briefly, squeezing his hands tightly around the bird's head of his walking stick in preparation for a possible argument. "To eliminate Jerome Valeska, we have no choice. Jerome wants his brother and his brother will only cooperate with us if Jim and Bullock stay involved." He hobbled closer to the bed, spreading his free arm. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is exchange friendship bracelets with Jim. We use the GCPD to sweep Valeska off the board and then our cooperation ends."

Firefly didn't seem satisfied, but she still stopped asking. Oswald was annoyed by her stubborn intransigence. Sometimes you had to ally with your enemies to get rid of even stronger enemies. But apparently she was more concerned with her pride and principles than with the possible wealth and freedom she would be able to achieve in a city governed by structured – or as Oswald would call it 'honest' – crime and freed from the chaos and anarchy of a Jerome Valeska.

"Be that as it may. Ivy, could I have a word with you alone?"

Ivy jumped up from the bed as if she'd woken up from a nightmare. "Sure."

"Let's take a walk."

He led Ivy out of the apartment, and they walked a bit in the shade of the tall concrete giants. Oswald was still trying to find the right words to begin his apology, so it was Ivy who finally broke the silence.

"Did you know I lived on streets like this for a while? Who would have thought that I'd be living in a mansion one day? Pretty awesome actually. Well...", she made an insecure grimace, "unless, of course, you don't want me around anymore after what happened to Fish and the whole thing with your house. Would be okay, honestly. I wouldn't be angry or something." She reconsidered and then turned her head to the side. "Gosh, maybe I would be a little angry. You really hurt me a lot, Pengy..."

It was the perfect moment and Oswald took a deep breath to finally get out what he had to say. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Maybe I was a little unfair yesterday when I yelled at you. You didn't mean any harm, and I was angry about the destroyed wall. What I am trying to say is..." He glanced at her, raised his eyebrows, which made him look like he really had to force himself. "I'm sorry."

Ivy was silent and just kept looking at him. She didn't expect Oswald to apologize. Who could blame her?

" _Wow!_ " she finally exclaimed. And that was that. Oswald looked ahead in a mixture of shame and annoyance and Ivy fell back into incredulous silence. For several minutes their steps were the only thing that echoed between the tall buildings.

"Do you really wanna work with Gordon and that other cop?" Ivy stroked her upper arm unsteadily.

Oswald rolled his eyes and moaned. "Not you, too."

Ivy stopped at a stone staircase and sat down on the top step. Oswald stopped at the bottom, slightly supported against the railing. "It's just that those two shot my dad back then. After that, my mom killed herself..."

Oswald wanted to have sympathy, but he did not understand what the whole thing had to do with their current plan. "As I said: they can be of use to us. Our personal differences can wait."

"I know. I do understand that. I really do. But I know Bruce. We're practically friends. And he and this Jeremiah guy seem to be getting along. Maybe I could ask him if they'd stick around even without the cops. If Selina is on board too, I'm sure he'll trust me."

"It's not just about Jeremiah Valeska. Against a maniac like Jerome, you need strong people and as much as I hate to admit it: Jim and Bullock are strong."

Ivy played broodingly with her fingers, but then let a hand slide into the pocket of her blazer and grabbed something that was hidden from Oswald's eyes. "We have Firefly and Freeze and I could be strong, too..."

"You?" Oswald laughed. "You have some very practical skills, but we need some muscle for what we're about to do." He looked up at the sky. The sun was already beginning to stretch its red arms over the horizon. "I think we should go back now."

\---

The bar was packed. Even on the counter, on the tables, and outside the windows stood people. They all wanted to see the show, the show of their king. It was the only highlight in their daily struggle for survival and the only occasion on which most of them, even from different neighborhoods and gangs, came together and celebrated.

But today there was a novelty, a 'VIP area', if you wanted to call it that. Separated from the rest of the visitors and guarded by Mr. Freeze and Firefly, right in front of the stage, stood Oswald, Bruce, Jeremiah, Selina, Lee, and Jim Gordon.

The stage was still in total darkness and the crowd was swarming about and shouting. And eventually, driven by a single person, who by now was drowned in the maelstrom of voices, the crowd began to call loudly for their king. They shouted "Riddler! Riddler!" and became louder and louder. Until a strong voice swept over them, silencing them all at once. Headlights were thrown on with a loud sound. The chimes for the beginning show. And suddenly the stage was brightly lit and the show host, dressed in bright green with a black bowler hat on his head, solemnly raised one hand to the ceiling.

"What time is it?", he asked in a voice that was able to penetrate into the farthest corner of the room, and all those present shouted at the same time from the top of their lungs. "Riddle time!"

But the man on stage was still not satisfied, so he asked again, and this time he tore the bowler hat off his head in one quick movement. "What time is it?" And again the crowd answered, cheering, and even louder than before. "Riddle time!"

Music sounded, fired up the atmosphere even more and the show master stepped forward to the edge of the stage, which was illuminated by seven lights. "That's right! It's riddle time in-", he threw up his right arm, pushed his bowler hat ecstatically into the air, the sign for the guests to join in his exclamation, "the Riddle-Factory!"

He walked back between the stage scenery, hung his bowler hat on a wooden construction with a ten-feet-high neon green question mark – the figurehead of the whole event and the trademark of its show master, the Riddler, Edward Nygma.

The exuberant cheers of the guests made Oswald, Jim, and the others frown. They were seriously puzzled at how Edward had managed to find so many people in the brutal Narrows who enjoyed his riddles. However, they still didn't know how an evening show at the Riddle Factory would take place. Edward would soon demonstrate it to them.

The music became soft and the cheers ebbed away. Edward spread his arms, a sad smile on his lips. "Normally I'd present you now the first contestant of the evening, but this show will be a little different." His sad look was immediately taken over by a broad grin, which made the audience hold its breath in excitement. "We have a very special guest today. He has only recently broken out of Arkham. You all know him. You all hate him. That's right, I'm talking about Jerome Valeska!"

Loud cheering, clapping. The crowd couldn't wait to see Valeska being stomped into the ground by her king – just as it had been with every other candidate. No one had ever won the Riddler's games before.

They fell silent again when Edward crossed his hands in front of his stomach with a regretful expression. "I'd welcome him on stage now, but it seems that punctuality isn't Jerome's forte."

The crowd booed the late guest, who didn't even know about the invitation to Edward's game show.

"But while we wait for him, we could play one of our regular rounds. How does that sound?"

The crowd went wild.

"Let's give a big welcome to the contestant, Arthur!" Edward had pointed both index fingers into a dark corner of the stage, which was now immediately lit by a spotlight, revealing a sinewy young man with blond hair standing behind a lectern. "Arthur was the leader of a small biker gang that had only recently formed, but was crushed in bloody gang wars by the Street Demonz." He stepped up to the lectern, casually supporting his elbow. "These are hard times for forming a biker gang, huh, Arthur?"

Arthur seemed nervous and a little hurt in his pride. "I put too much hope in weaklings. That won't happen again. All the more reason I'm damn happy to be here today, Riddler."

Edward tapped the lectern with a grin. "That's the Narrows spirit I love."

Jubilant cheering in the crowd.

Edward waited a moment for calm to return before he continued speaking. "Now, you know the rules. I ask a riddle, you answer correctly, you ask me one. You win 'em both, and you're walking out of here with cold hard cash!" He pointed to a suitcase that stood on a stool between the lectern and the neon green question mark. It had been opened so that you could see the many packets of money piling up neatly inside.

Grinning, Edward now turned to the other side of the stage. There stood a large hourglass in a cross-shaped frame. And behind it was some kind of wheel of fortune in a western look, with earth-colored subdivisions on which punishments, instead of prizes, were written. Between hourglass and wheel of fortune stood Martin. The little boy wore a dark green costume with leathery steampunk elements and silver buttons, and a top hat decorated with green and black feathers.

"Martin. Prepare the timer."

The boy indicated a bow, then, to the quiet cheers of the audience, he stepped forward to the hourglass, which was larger than himself, and raised a hand to the wooden frame.

Ominous music played and Edward stood in the middle of the stage. He had taken his bowler hat off the hook again, put it on dramatically, and took an artistic pause before he presented his riddle. "I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. _What am I?_ "

With a squeak, Martin flipped the hourglass. Fine green sand slowly trickled through its narrow neck, gathered at the foot of the glass at a threatening speed.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Okay... cracked... played..." He tried to recall the riddle in his memory but stumbled over his thoughts because of his high nervousness and the pressure he put on himself. "Told..."

Edward stood with his back to the audience. The spotlight illuminating him from behind emphasized his shadowy face. His stern, attentive gaze intensified Arthur's nervousness.

Arthur himself was also illuminated by a spotlight. He was hot and sweating terribly. Because of the harsh light, he couldn't see all the people below the stage and didn't know if the audience was making faces, so he imagined that they were, and thereby raised his pulse even more. "Okay, wait, wait. Just a moment. No, no. I know the answer. It's, uh..." He hit his fist on the lectern. "A-- a riddle!"

One could hear occasional laughter in the audience, but Edward gave no indication whether the answer was right or wrong. Instead, he turned to the audience in one quick movement and raised both thumbs to a horizontal position. At the same moment that he moved his thumbs down, a buzzer sounded. The answer was wrong.

"The answer is joke. It can be cracked, made, told, and played." He had raised his index fingers with a grin while speaking, led them through the air as conductor of his own words. "Sorry, Arthur."

A demanding chant rose in the crowd. "Spin the wheel! Spin the wheel!" And Edward incited them to shout even louder by placing a hand on his ear.

"You hear them, Arthur. It's time to _spin the wheel of misfortune!_ "

They seemed to have rehearsed it, for Martin presented the wheel like a professional and under the bloodthirsty cheers of the audience, he gave it a gentle push. Only one spectator block was completely quiet, the one in which Jim Gordon was standing, who was now trying to get on stage to prevent the punishment. Firefly and Freeze had to block his way and when Bruce also wanted to play the hero and Lee started yelling against the cheers, Firefly threatened them with a roaring of her flamethrower.

The wheel slowed down. The punishments raced past Arthur's panicked and Edward's amused eyes. And then the decision was finally made.

" _Donkey ears_ – mild but amusing." He grinned into the crowd, which now, as if on command, began braying like donkeys. From somewhere backstage, two women with iron pincers stepped onto the stage and waved into the audience. And Arthur, who wanted to flee out of fear of being punished, was grabbed by two men and dragged to his knees in the middle of the stage, where the two women in fringed green dresses lined up to his left and right and twice dramatically opened and closed the pincers.

Now Gordon had enough. When he heard the man's agonizing howl, he tried to push himself past Firefly, but almost lost his balance because suddenly a strong vibration rattled through the floor and a bloodcurdling crash split the air.

Arthur was dragged backstage at Edward's finger-pointing. Edward had been eagerly waiting for this moment. Grinning, he led the fingertips of both hands against each other. "Well, I guess it's time for a different kind of fun."

Tbc


	27. Showmaster vs. Clown - Riddler vs. ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Riddle factory finally presents it's special guest.

Chapter 27

**Showmaster vs. Clown - Riddler vs. ?**

The guests all turned to the windows, pressed their faces to the fogged glass, but all they could see was the nightly gloom of the Narrows and up in the sky the lights of Gotham Midtown, the electric stars of a big city, colorful and frantic.

"Look. Over there," shouted one of them, pointing behind the tall apartment buildings that concealed the view of Gotham River and the city skyline behind it, and above which grey smoke rose into the eerie darkness.

"Isn't that where the bridge is?" cried someone else, and suddenly the whole crowd became agitated, swayed and rumbled like a storm-whipped ship whose helmsman had steered it cheerfully into the eye of the hurricane. A helmsman, who stood high up on the stage and looked down on the world before him with a broad, all-knowing grin. It happened. It worked. Just as planned. Edward was proud of himself. No one else would have been able to design such a large construction in one morning and then take it to action. In his mind, of course, he chose to ignore the help of the numerous Narrows residents, who had helped him attach the explosives and who, much like snipers, now surrounded the area, maintaining the illusion of an impossible escape.

When Edward had revealed his plan to Jim Gordon and Harvey, he had told the policemen that he wanted to trap Jerome Valeska in a labyrinth. He had gotten the idea from Jeremiah's bunker. But Edward had never told them exactly how this labyrinth was supposed to be created. But now that Jim heard this sound that threw him right back into his Army days, this sound of projectiles made of rubble, tornadoes made of dust that could even drown out the roar of explosions, and the constant vibration in the earth, he was shocked.

And amidst the echoes of the blasts, Edward leisurely pulled a small remote control out of the inside pocket of his jacket and pressed a button that activated numerous monitors on the stage ceiling. Monitors on which the destruction was revealed, as they were connected to camera towers that, spared by the rubble, were enthroned high above the labyrinth.

With the exception of Edward Nygma, who grinned proudly, and Jeremiah Valeska, who seemed strangely fascinated, all those present had fallen silent in horror. Most of them felt uncomfortable at first, because they could see that they had been right when they suspected that the smoke had come from the bridge. In fact, the screens revealed that all eight entrances to the Narrows had been destroyed. And not only that, many tall buildings, homes, and businesses had fallen victim to the detonations. And when Edward switched between the camera scenes and displayed on the largest of the many screens the one that depicted the access to the northernmost part of the Diamond District in Gotham Midtown, they could make out a group of about ten people, small like laboratory rats that had made it across the bridge and were now stuck on the island. They stared into the labyrinth of rubble that stretched out before them like the winding tunnels of the Parisian catacombs.

Leading them was Jerome Valeska, brows raised, lips pursed. He had been surprised by the sudden detonations, but they in no way intimidated him. Even if he had entered the Narrows, unarmed and with his hands in the air, and had been arrested there by Gordon and Bullock, he would still have achieved his goal. One way or another. And besides, Jerome was someone who, even if he fell into an abyss, would still feel like laughing in the face of his inevitable death. So he just grinned and incited the cult members who had come with him, most of whom had fallen screaming to their death along with the rubble of the bridge, to charge into the labyrinth.

They halted when a sharp "Stop!" sounded from the sky. But neither had the clouds ripped open and a divine presence bent down towards them, nor was an alien in a cape, disguised in human skin, approaching to thwart their goal and act as a vigilante of the city. Aimlessly they threw their heads into the air, searching for the owner of this voice, which sounded a bit mechanical and gave off a satisfied noise at the helpless sight of the crowd. "I guess that means you can all hear me. Fantastic. So your ears have remained intact. To be honest, I had hoped that more of you would find a wet grave, but there's plenty of time for that. Until then: _congratulations_. You have been selected as contestants on the Narrows' biggest game show." In the background, the slow clapping of a single person was heard, more mocking than congratulating.

Meanwhile, Jerome and most of his followers had spotted the tower with the camera and apparently also a strong loudspeaker system on their left, some distance away. And while his subordinates merely exchanged confused looks, Jerome grinned and then bowed twice to the invisible game show host.

"And what is a good show without a deadly game," Edward hummed amusedly from the loudspeaker. The amusement, however, turned into uncertainty for a split second when Jerome laughed out loud and replied with honest joy: "You're singing my song, pal! So tell me, tell me: What awaits us in your labyrinth? Saw blades? Mines?" He seemed to be eagerly awaiting it, sounded like a kid who was allowed to spend his birthday jumping in a bounce house. "And you forgot to tell me what I can win."

Edward snorted. He felt little to no delight seeing his victims play his game willingly and completely without fear. But he was sure that he would soon prove to Jerome that he was the one holding the reins. He was far more intelligent. And for Edward there was only one way to demonstrate this.

His grin came back, while the guests behind him began to cheer. The detonations had unsettled them, but knowing that their king had deliberately carried them out to capture Jerome Valeska gave them the reassuring feeling of a successful plan. "Today's grand prize will knock your socks off: Your brother, Jeremiah Valeska, and with him billionaire kid Bruce Wayne, whom you have already failed to kill twice."

"Ah, ah, ah, correction, _camera voice_ : I could have killed our Brucey at any time," Jerome replied with a raised index finger and then grinned devilishly. "But then we wouldn't be able to have more fun together." Jerome had actually spent a lot of time in Arkham thinking about what he could do to Bruce the next time they would face each other. But as long as he had not reached Jeremiah, Bruce would have to wait.

At Edward's bar, all the Narrows residents fell silent in outrage. They could not believe that Jerome Valeska had no idea who he was talking to.

Edward was also bothered by Jerome's ignorance and tried to cover his irritation in front of his guests with a smile. "I suppose I should have introduced myself first--"

"Not everyone has what it takes to be a good entertainer. It takes _charisma, wit_ and the _proper_ _timing_." He had his arms outstretched and it was obvious that he attributed all these qualities to himself.

"Why not discuss this face to face. If you manage to cross my labyrinth, I, _the Riddler, Edward Nygma,_ will be waiting for you on the other side. The labyrinth is only the first task out of three. Think of it more as a test to determine whether you are even worthy of the stage."

"The Riddler?" Jerome raised his eyebrows and then, in feigned contemplation, ran his hand over his chin. "Stage names seem to be quite popular lately." His thoughts immediately turned to Scarecrow and 'Mad Hatter' – although the latter was probably still trying to enforce it, because everyone kept calling him Tetch, including Jerome. "I like it. Reminds me of my time in the circus – Strongman, Ruffles, Button, Colossus. A good stage name merges with the performer, it _becomes the performer._ " Jerome's eyes turned black as he widened his mouth to a broad, grotesque grin. "Maybe it's time I got one myself."

"I don't think you'll have time to come up with one once you enter my labyrinth, let alone need one once I get rid of you. It's impossible to cross the labyrinth. In fact, I've already won. But I'm not a savage. I'll give your limited brain a clue that'll help you find the correct path. So listen carefully." Edward cleared his throat once and then presented his riddle: "The walls are all seeing, the sky misses not a single sound. Follow your heart and you'll be declared the winner of the first round _. Good luck_."

A loud crackling sound emanated from the loudspeaker system and Jerome and his followers were left without the showmaster at the labyrinth's threshold. Jerome merely shrugged his shoulders, gave a bored "Well, whatever" and stomped into the labyrinth completely unperturbed. His worshipers followed with a grin.

Edward was quite sure that the second round would not even take place, so he had two of his assistants carry a heavy wooden chair onto the stage, with a question mark on the backrest, large and shining in a bright green. He sat down so that he could watch the monitors together with his guests, and crossed his legs. To the audience, he probably looked like the modern version of a Roman emperor watching the gladiators in the Colosseum and longing for their death with a burning chest.

"You didn't say a word about blowing up buildings," growled Jim and had yet again to be prevented from entering the stage by Freeze and Firefly. Lee had meanwhile disappeared backstage, looking for the possibly seriously injured Arthur, and Selina had followed her as bodyguard. Bruce immediately caught up with Jim as if their shadows had merged, and Jeremiah looked at the monitors with interest. Jeremiah too was sure that his stupid brother was not able to cross such a labyrinth. 

"You truly have the memory of an elephant, Jimbo," Edward replied sarcastically, both hands crossed over his knee.

"Alfred, Ivy and Harvey won't be able to join us in an emergency when the bridges--" Bruce now began, but was interrupted in his speech by Edward, who had lowered his gaze down to him in admonition. " _Wow_ , did you come up with that all by yourself, Bruce?" Edward was angry. He was furious that his plan was being questioned by some dim-witted pacifists.

"Were there still people in the buildings?" Jim asked further, while in the background Oswald helped Martin get off the stage. He trusted Edward and his plan, but he still wanted his son to be safe between them.

"You really think I'm capable of that, Jimbo?"

The detective gritted his teeth. "I think you're capable of much worse."

With a quiet snort, Edward changed his position. Even criminals like him had a moral code – although it might have been a great bit narrower than that of the average citizen. "No, there was nobody inside."

"But was it really necessary to blow up so many? The Narrows' infrastructure has suffered enough," Bruce continued, and this time Oswald was the one who laughed.

"Oh bo-hoo – old, crumbling buildings were blown up. This would have happened anyway, even without Jerome Valeska." In fact, Edward had saved them quite a bit of work. As soon as the rubble was cleared away, the first plans for new buildings could be developed. Oswald had already recruited the necessary structural engineers and architects.

Edward closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, could already feel the gaze of all the present residents drilling into his back. Now he probably had to explain that.

And as he stood up and declared, sadly for Jim Gordon as well, that he intended to renovate the Narrows to create an economically viable empire not known for its particularly high gang rate, Jeremiah Valeska watched with eyes sparkling with victory as Jerome's followers lost patience and gradually set about climbing the rubble walls, while their leader made no attempt to stop them, but simply kept marching. If he hadn't been standing in the midst of all these people, he probably would have giggled. He had already guessed that his lunatic brother knew nothing about coordinating his idiotic followers, who almost all climbed to their deaths before Jeremiah's very eyes. But at some point, when Jerome had been jumping through the corridors for about half an hour, accompanied only by two remaining lanky men in fashionable straitjackets, Jeremiah felt an inner restlessness. Hectically, he let his gaze wander across all the monitors, combined the paths, completed the labyrinth in his head, and doubted his own eyes twice before he realized with horror that Jerome was heading purposefully towards the exit.

After his speech, which was received only with moderate resonance by the Narrows residents, Edward finally noticed too. He was surprised, as he had not expected Jerome to solve his riddle and find the exit. Perhaps he had simply been lucky. That was what Edward decided to believe. If he assumed that Jerome had only crossed his labyrinth with great luck, he did not have to doubt his own abilities and, even worse, his intelligence, but could faithfully save face in accordance with the saying 'every dog has its day'.

In a hurry, he ordered via walkie-talkie that his people should secure the entrance to the bar, frisk the arrivals before letting them through, and had the guests create a long corridor to the stage. Jim immediately grabbed the gun in his waistband and Bruce stood protectively in front of Jeremiah, while Oswald held Martin with him and also pulled out a pistol. Actually, he did not like handguns that much, because they were so small and light, that they gave him only a moderate sense of security, but in the turmoil of the bar, a shotgun or assault rifle would probably have attracted attention.

With a movement of his arm Edward silenced the bar and the stage lights went dark. Everyone now looked tense towards the entrance. Minutes disguised themselves as hours, and when suddenly the doors to the bar opened with a bang, several people in the audience drew in the air sharply while others growled, and the wide aisle became even wider. So there he stood, Jerome Valeska, arms outstretched like the rogue cowboy in the classic western, curiously looking towards the stage where he could make out nothing but a silhouette. Behind him, his two remaining helpers also stepped through the door, looked around as if they owned the place, and only later followed the gaze of their leader to the figure standing in darkness.

But then, with the triple ringing of a clear bell, the lights on stage were turned on again and Edward Nygma, soaked in the glaring spotlight, greeted Jerome with a haughty "well played" and a slow clapping.

Jerome's reaction was strangely thoughtful. He put his head to one side, one hand to his chin, and drew his brows low, while he looked at Edward like one would look at a surreal painting. He was sure that he had seen this green-dressed guy with the glasses somewhere before. Something told him, however, that his glasses had been significantly more crooked the last time they met. And finally he remembered.

"Crayon-face," he exclaimed, with the warmth of greeting an old friend, and now it was Edward who pulled his brows together and cocked his head in irritation. But he didn't even have time to follow up, as Jerome now stomped towards him with a grin, an index finger firmly pointed at him. "You're little Oswald's _cutie patootie_." His voice was taunting, as was his smile, and Edward made a bashful grimace because of the childish term. 

Oswald too made a grimace, but a nervous one, since he now saw himself surrounded by people from the Narrows, who had known nothing of his relationship with their king. They whispered, gave him distrustful looks, and even seemed threatening enough that Jim Gordon felt compelled to take a step in front of the sunken Oswald. Oswald had imagined this announcement in a different way – in a protected position and not on the same level with people who held him responsible for their miserable lives. Now the residents could no longer delude themselves that Edward had only a temporary partnership with Oswald, using him, his money and his influence for the benefit of the Narrows. Now they had to realize that Oswald Cobblepot had a prominent place in the future of this community, from now on and for the rest of Edward's reign. If they wanted Edward's wisdom and guidance, they could not reject the Penguin.

"Was that all?" Edward asked threateningly, not denying Jerome's statement, thus confirming its truth to the inhabitants of his country. This had now been two stomach blows to Edward's authority, and he was afraid of not being able to deal with Jerome in time to repair the damage done.

"Ed-ward Nyg-ma..." Jerome pronounced the name especially slowly, underscoring it meaningfully with his hands as he moved forward. If he had carried a walking stick, he would have swung it through the air. "Huh, sounds familiar." You could hear in his voice that he just wanted to make it extra thrilling.

Edward tried to speak, but Jerome stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"No, wait, don't say it! It'll come to me..." He began to think aloud, tapped several times with the tip of his innocently white lace-up shoes on the floorboard before loudly snapping the fingers of the hand with which he now pointed up to Edward. "Ah! You're the guy who was supposed to find Jeremiah for me! Little Oswald's call! Tell me! Where is that _privileged_ _rat_?"

Although Bruce tried to hold him back, Jeremiah broke out of the crowd in rage. "How did you find your way out of the labyrinth? Who helped you?"

"Ah, there you are, brother!" Jerome smiled affectionately, but his scarred face made him look less like a relieved brother and more like a murderous pumpkin. "Did you think I hadn't watched you back then, scribbling your little cowardly labyrinths everywhere? I was paying attention. You won't be able to hide from me again. I've been waiting for this moment for 15 years – _15 years_. I've missed you."

"I certainly didn't. You're just a lunatic from my past. If you wanna kill me, do it. I'm not afraid of you anymore!" Jeremiah clenched his hands into fists. He was very much afraid. It was only natural to be afraid. Jerome was unpredictable. But Jeremiah's heartbeat calmed down again when he saw Bruce standing next to him out of the corner of his eye. The others also built around him like a defensive wall, but they were not of interest to Jeremiah.

Jerome laughed. "Don't be like that. We're brothers. I would never hurt you. _I love you_. Even though you made my life a living hell back then." The last sentence had turned into a growl.

" _I_ made _your_ life a living hell? You blame me for everything that went wrong in your life, but, Jerome, we both know that you--"

"I what, huh? I tried to kill ya?! What did you say to her again, huh? What was it? I held a knife to your throat? No. No. No. I tried to light you on fire!"

"We both know you wanted to!"

"Yeah, that was a funny story, wasn't it? Your lies turned everyone I've ever loved against me!"

Jeremiah's lips trembled. "Okay. May-- maybe it didn't happen exactly like that... But in the end, I was right." He gulped. "You killed our mother."

Jerome's smile made Bruce's neck hair stand up and he grabbed at Jeremiah's wrist to prevent him from taking another step towards his brother.

" _She did deserve it though._ "

If you looked closely, you could see that Jeremiah briefly lost control over his facial muscles. But no one looked closely enough, no one but Jerome.

"After that whore hid you away, she gave up on me." Jerome tilted his head to one side in amusement. "Well, I guess it's true what they say: We all could go insane with just one bad day. _You_ must be the exception to the rule then--"

Bruce had to hold Jeremiah back with both hands as he rushed snarling at his brother, who suddenly pulled a knife out of his right sleeve with a dirty grin on his lips. The twins' faces were reflected in the steel blade, one grinning amusedly, the other crunching with cold rage.

"Ah, ah, ah, Jerome, you're not going to be a spoilsport now, are you?", admonished Edward, while in the background the chair was carried off the stage again and instead two helpers rolled up a large magnetic board. "After all, we haven't even reached the halfway point of the show yet."

Jerome's grin remained, even as he raised his eyes to Edward. "Aye. Let's play for my brother, and...", with a desirous exhalation, Jerome took a step towards Bruce, "for our little Brucey who protects him so heroically."

Without any effort Jerome jumped up on stage and then immediately put on his entertainer mask. With his arms raised, he stood at the front edge, grinned engagingly and then bowed twice. Edward stood beside him, pointing with both arms in Jerome's direction.

"So here he is at last, the man you have been waiting for so long: Jerome Valeska!"

That was enough to finally get the crowd going again. They cheered and called out the name of their king. Now they belonged to him again.

"So what's this second round all about?"

Edward's lips curled into a confident smile. "A riddle contest."

"Riddles," Jerome repeated, but sounded by no means nervous.

With a wrinkled forehead, Edward watched as Jerome stretched, did two squats and finally, with a quick, "Good. Ready when you are, buddy" shook his limbs.

"This round will be different from the previous ones. We'll take turns in asking riddles, while the other one must give the answer. Whoever answers two riddles correctly first, wins. During the competition, no form of violence may be used and no one is allowed to leave the stage – mere riddle-answer play – otherwise the competitor is automatically disqualified and the entire second round goes to the rival. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's begin."

Edward straightened his back. "I'll start: You use a knife to slice my head and weep beside me when I'm dead. What am I?"

The crushing silence of strained brooding could not even arise, as Jerome immediately laughed and with a suggestive look replied: "The pretty guard who had the key to my cell."

Isolated laughter in the audience as the lights dimmed and Edward slowly raised his arms, putting both thumbs in a horizontal position. Synchronized with the sound of the error buzzer, Edward let his thumbs point down, a scornful grin on his face.

"Wrong! The right answer is: An onion."

Jerome grinned as if he was completely indifferent to the result. "You must admit that my answer was better."

"It was wrong – that's all that matters. Lila, would you be so kind?"

A woman with a feathered top hat stepped up to the white magnetic board and pulled out a flat magnet from behind her, on which a red X was shown. She held it in the air for several seconds, presented it to the guests cheering for Edward, before placing it on the board, under Jerome's name written with a black board marker.

"Now you have to ask me a riddle," Edward said, whereupon Jerome took a step forward to the edge of the stage, speaking directly into the crowd – more comedian than contestant. "What's yellow and can't swim?"

Edward flinched back. Since there were many things that were yellow and couldn't swim – for example a banana, a cab or a bee – Edward was sure that it had to be a joke question. The problem was: If you didn't already know the punch line, you could hardly answer such a riddle. "I… can't know that," he replied with the greatest reluctance, shamefully averting his gaze.

There was a sudden silence. No one in the audience could believe what they had just heard. But Jerome tore the silence apart like the delicate wings of a butterfly when he screamed at the top of his lungs: "A bus full of children!" Again there was occasional laughter in the crowd. One of Jerome's followers even fell into manic giggles and slapped his neighbor on the back with watery eyes.

Edward drew his brows together. " _One moment!_ First, the children are a detail that does not arise from the riddle, and second, joke questions do not allow for a single answer. They are impossible to solve and are therefore not allowed."

"Huh, strange. I don't remember you mentioning them among your rules. For me it sounds more like you're afraid of losing, _Riddler_." He pronounced the name like a beguiling growl.

Edward gritted his teeth. Inwardly, he scolded himself for not having thought of it. "They remain permitted. We continue." He spoke slightly towards his assistant Lila, who without any fuss attached the red magnet under Edward's name.

Edward once took a deep breath, calmed his troubled mind, swapped his tense facial muscles for the mask of self-assurance. "So let us move on to the next riddle: I lead the way into the unknown, and bring strength where there is discontent. I am the creator of invention, and yet I am also known as the cat's end. What am I?"

It was a stroke of fate that Lee and Selina stepped out of the room behind the stage at that moment and returned to Jim and the others. Jerome watched their every move with the craving of a predator. This in turn did not go unnoticed by Bruce, who kept Jerome in view, eyes sharp as those of a steppe-horse.

"Let me answer your riddle with a riddle of my own, yeah? What has two legs and bleeds?"

Even before Edward could answer, Jerome had pulled a throwing knife from his sleeve, threw it with nimble fingers in Selina's direction. "Half a cat."

From then on everything happened in the blink of an eye. Bruce, who had already prepared himself for an attack from Jerome, stood protectively before Selina. Meanwhile, Jeremiah had the feeling that his brother had given him a quick glance. A mocking glance. A glance that laughed at Jeremiah for his love for Bruce because Bruce was willing to protect Selina with his life. There was just enough room in Jeremiah's head for one thought: If he wasn't the princess protected by her prince, he had to become the prince himself. And so he yanked Bruce to the floor with him at the last moment, screaming as they hit the floorboards together, and then looked up in bewilderment when he realized that the knife had not hit him and that Selina had also been spared the attack. In fact, the knife had simply stopped in mid-air, hovering in an ice-blue mist that originated from Mr. Freeze.

Jerome wrinkled his nose as Freeze deactivated the freeze gun and the knife fell to the ground rattling. "What a buzzkill."

Bruce was stunned, didn't say a word, just stared at Jeremiah, who was still kneeling over him breathing heavily. His glasses had slipped during the jump, hung loosely on his nose, and when he straightened up a bit to correct their fit, Jeremiah hissed loudly and grabbed his knee. Immediately Lee pushed past Oswald and Jim, who were just standing there, overwhelmed, and knelt down to Jeremiah to check his knee. Oswald feared a little for their safety and began to doubt quietly the thoroughness of Edward's plan. He was glad, however, that he had managed to get Freeze and Firefly to overlook their resentment for the GCPD, at least for this evening, and protect him and the rest of the group. Jim, on the other hand, was ashamed that he had not acted in time himself. He had risked the lives of Selina, Jeremiah, and Bruce – three young people – so he was relieved that Freeze had acted in time.

Selina looked at Bruce without turning her body. From the way she stood there, she looked a little out of place. "T-thank you." Then she looked up at Freeze, now her eyes appeared more secure. "Thank you, too."

Freeze nodded weakly in response while Bruce made a nervous grimace.

"Um... no-- no problem." Bruce's voice trembled. He had prepared himself to take the knife with his own body. The fact that Jeremiah had protected him and risked his own life made a hot and cold cocktail bubble inside him. On the one hand, he blamed himself for Jeremiah's situation – after all, he had made up his mind to protect him from Jerome – and on the other hand, he was flattered by the way Jeremiah had acted. He had the tingling feeling that he had found a real friend.

Meanwhile Jerome on stage raised both hands.

"That was a violation of the rules," growled Edward.

"You got me, Sheriff," Jerome grinned. "I guess that makes the second round yours." He winked at Edward. "May I suggest something for the third round? Something that'll make things a little more... spicy."

Edward narrowed his eyes. "What would that be?"

"Now don't be so grumpy. I know the punch line was a little sharp, but the execution--" He kissed his own fingertips, "perfectly. And ya know what would have been even funnier? If the knife would have pierced Brucey's little girlfriend, after he'd tried to protect her, and all that because of my _heroic_ brother." Jerome fell into a loud laugh at the thought.

When Edward didn't laugh, Jerome just grinned and finally answered his question. "How 'bout we have more action in the third round?" No one knew where it came from, least of all the guards at the door who had searched Jerome before they had let him enter, but suddenly Jerome held a revolver in his hand.

Things got agitated, many ducked and Jim and Oswald pointed their weapons at the stage, while Freeze and Firefly formed a defensive wall.

"Woah, woah, woah, hold your horses," Jerome grinned. "This is part of the show."

"You want the third round to involve shooting someone?"

"Not at all. I want us to determine whose hand remains steady in the face of someone who's dear to us."

Edward's brows shot up. "Nothing forces me to accept your propositions. In the present situation I'm not even forced to continue our game. You have only two helpers left and are surrounded by my people. The bridges are blown, there's no escape from the Narrows. You have already lost against me, so why continue?" Edward growled when he heard the crowd suddenly start booing. They wanted a grand finale, they wanted to know if their king could actually beat Jerome – with fair weapons, the weapons of the Narrows, the weapons of _his_ Narrows.

"Hm, that sounds awfully crushing, _but_ if you play my game, I'll give you this in exchange." He put his hands around the big red bow tie that was stuck under his chin in clownish mass and turned it around so Edward could see its backside.

"Is that--" His throat went dry.

"An ignition button." Jerome giggled. "Seems like the joke's on you."

Jim pushed Freeze and Firefly out of the way and stepped towards the edge of the stage with his gun pointed at Jerome. "Freeze!"

Jerome grinned. "Wanna make a bet, Jim? Can you shoot me quicker than I can push the button?" The answer was obvious. "Are you certain enough to risk someone dying?"

"Who would die?" Edward asked without much unnecessary emotion.

"Does it matter?" teased Jerome. And yes, for Edward it did matter. There were not many people in Gotham whose lives were important enough for him to dance to Jerome's tune.

"Nygma!," warned Jim, who had interpreted Edward's tone correctly.

"We are this close to catching him. What's the life of one man?", Edward argued coldly and suddenly Jim had the muzzle of a pistol in his back. As he turned his head, he saw in Oswald's devilish smile.

"Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to achieve your goal."

At Oswald's words, Firefly had threateningly turned to Jim and the others while Freeze held his gun on Jerome.

Jerome had a great time. "Am I the reason why such _good_ _friends_ quarrel? That's too bad."

Edward peered through the crowd that had not yet decided whose side they wanted to be on. It gave him a queasy feeling in his stomach. When he then saw Bruce whispering something to Selina from the corner of his eye, he panicked.

"Oswald!"

But before Oswald or Firefly could even notice, Selina had grasped forward, and was now holding Martin in front of her, one arm wrapped around his torso and a claw at his neck. "Gun down," she demanded, while Oswald anxiously gasped for air.

"Selina," cried Jim and Bruce almost at the same time, and Lee, who had just finished palpating Jeremiah's knee, which had merely twisted a little awkwardly on impact, also looked stunned at the young thief whose eyes flashed with unpredictability like those of a real cat.

Bruce raised both hands in appeasement. "That was not what I meant." Actually, he had simply whispered a plan to disarm Oswald together – and that plan had not involved threatening a child.

"Quiet," Selina hissed back, not averting her gaze from Oswald.

"Selina, you don't wanna do that. It's not like you," Jim argued, but Selina sneered and showed a dismissive smile.

"You've no idea what I want or what fits me." Inwardly, she was upset that no one was thanking her for being there to save their asses.

Firefly threw a questioning glance at Oswald, and Freeze also turned his head around briefly. Oswald answered their glances with a breathless "No" before he raised his hands and with them the gun and finally handed the gun over to Jim.

And then happened what Edward had feared. The crowd suddenly began to call unanimously for the desired finale, pushing closer and closer to the stage. In the turmoil, both Freeze and Firefly lost their target position and Selina was pushed and let Martin go, who immediately fled into Oswald's arms. The boy denied himself a tear, he hated being responsible for his father giving up. He felt weak and useless.

Jerome grinned into the audience. "You see, that's what happens when you get too set on a plan. One _teeny, tiny_ bomb and suddenly everyone loses their mind!" He whirled his hands through the air.

"I agree."

"Huh?" Jerome turned to Edward, who gave him a gloomy look.

"You can have your third round. On one condition." Edward had no choice. He could not lose the Narrows again in one night. And besides, there was still plan B to D, for which he had prepared props and assumption that could now help him win.

Jerome puffed out air with delight. "I'm all ears, pal."

Lila pushed the magnetic board off the stage again, while two others of Edward's helpers brought two thin but large targets onto the stage and attached them to the wooden construction. They would take turns aiming at the targets, under each of which would be a person who the shooter cared about. Both of them had only one shot. The contestant who hit closer to the crown of his target without hurting the person was the winner.

Lila entered the stage with a pillow in her hands; on the cushion lay two revolvers, each with one bullet. Jerome had contentedly agreed when Edward suggested that the opponent be allowed to decide who had to stand under the target for the other, and had even handed in his own gun. Now he was the first to choose one of the two revolvers.

He chose the left one and then gave Lila an eerie look. "Lila, huh? Ya know, my mother's name was also Lila." He leaned in a little closer, pursed his chapped red lips, a hidden smile in the corners of his mouth. "Think you even have the same eyes."

Lila swallowed, quickly handed the pillow to Edward, and then hurriedly disappeared backstage while both men checked their weapons.

"Have you made your choice yet?" Edward asked, the weapon raised in front of his face while examining.

"Mm-hm." Jerome closed the cylinder of his revolver and looked down into the audience. "What d'you think of our _beloved_ feathered mayor paying us the honor?"

Edward had been expecting this, as well as the cheering and roaring of the audience, which is why he did not tense a muscle when Oswald was shoved onto the stage. Oswald hissed at the rough men, rubbed his upper arms and then limped to Edward's height.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said softly to his boyfriend.

"Trust me."

"How that? There's not a single soul in all of Gotham that this maniac doesn't want dead anyway."

"And that's where you're wrong."

"So? Who gets my bullet? Perhaps...", Jerome looked down into the audience, where his two followers had to stand, "one of my loyal helpers? Or...", he looked into the corner where Jim and the others were standing, "maybe even my sweet Brucey?" He licked his lips loudly.

"No. I was thinking of someone else."

Jerome looked at Edward, his brows furrowed.

"Your target will be your brother, Jeremiah."

Jerome was calm, staring at Edward for a long time, but finally, he fell into a manic giggle. "Jeremiah, huh? You do me a favor. A huge favor. You're joking, pal."

Oswald drew Edward's attention back to him by pulling on his sleeve. "You're just gonna let him have our hostage? You'll give him exactly what he wants."

Jim, Bruce and Lee also seemed to be less than enthusiastic about Edward's idea. Jeremiah himself had turned white with fear, and the only movement his body could still make was a shake of the head.

"I have decided," Edward reaffirmed and joined Jerome at the front of the stage. "So please welcome with me Jeremiah Valeska!"

It was only when the crowd called out that Jeremiah awoke from his panic paralysis, stumbled on wobbly legs towards the stage and had to appease Bruce who wouldn't let him go. Meanwhile Jim hardened the grip around his pistol.

"Jeremiah Valeska, ladies and gentlemen," Edward repeated as Jeremiah arrived next to him, arms tightly crossed in front of his navel, his eyes lowered to his toes.

Jeremiah and Oswald were each brought before the targets by two men and the targets were adjusted to their height. Meanwhile, Jerome and Edward threw one last competitive glance at each other.

Edward grinned confidently. "Since you have lost the last round, you are allowed to shoot first."

If Jerome felt anything other than joy, at least he didn't show it. He positioned himself in front of Jeremiah with the necessary distance and aimed his revolver directly over his crown. The grin on his face looked painful, and he had lowered his gaze, concentrated with such intensity that no one would have been surprised if the veins on his forehead were thickly pressed through the scarred skin. He moved his index finger to the trigger.

"One wrong move and your brother's dead," Edward calmly explained.

With a soft growl, Jerome lowered the gun, exhaled and inhaled once, and then held the gun again on his brother. Jeremiah had clenched his jaws together and raised his hands to his chest. He was firmly convinced that Jerome would pull the trigger and wouldn't give a damn if he was hurt or not.

"15 years of no contact and that will be the end. Did you imagine it like this?", Edward continued, and again Jerome snorted and let the gun drop.

"I have to focus here, so if you'll just --" he made a pushing hand movement, " _shoo shoo_."

Edward took a wide step to the side, fixed his eyes on Jerome's profile and brought his fingertips together.

He was just about to criticize Jerome's foot position and thus further unsettle him, when Jerome suddenly clicked his tongue and, grinning, lowered his gun. "Looks like you won."

Edward smiled, although Jerome hadn't even looked at him during the sentence. With a loud sigh, Oswald released the oxygen that he had accumulated in nervousness and moved away from the target to come to a stop behind Edward. Jeremiah also broke away from the target, walking backwards and with his eyes on Jerome toward the edge of the stage, then climbing down quickly to disappear into the crowd, where Bruce patted him on the shoulder in relief and Jim gave him a toothless smile.

It was actually quite suspicious how quickly Jerome surrendered afterwards, and also his followers immediately got down on their knees and could be tied up together with their leader.

Jim was just making sure that all inhabitants of the Narrows left the bar, while Bruce and Lee took care of the apparently traumatized Jeremiah, Selina locked Jerome's two helpers in the next room, and Edward and Oswald watched Jerome from a distance, who sat on the edge of the stage with tied hands and dangled his legs as if he had absolutely nothing to fear.

Edward had a very strange sensation. On the one hand he was proud of how he had managed to turn the situation in his favor, on the other hand he found it strange how quickly Jerome had surrendered. He had the feeling that he was missing something.

Oswald had taken the revolver with which Edward would have had to shoot at him if Jerome had not given up early. He wondered if Edward would have actually done it, or if he had known that Jerome would give up.

"Do you wonder if I would have shot you?"

The question alone was enough to make Oswald feel ashamed of his own thought. He looked up at Edward with a wry smile. "What if Jerome had pulled the trigger?"

Instead of a direct answer, Edward picked up the revolver and opened the cylinder. "Open your hand." He tipped the gun over and a single bullet fell into Oswald's hand. "Both revolvers were loaded with blanks."

"Blanks?" Oswald took the single bullet between his thumb and forefinger and held it in front of his face. "It looks pretty real to me." Now that he knew, he suddenly had the feeling that the bullet was lighter than a normal one, but perhaps that was just his mind looking for an explanation.

"It had to, if I wanted Jerome to believe that his bullet could actually be fatal."

Oswald continued to move the bullet before his nose.

"For someone like Jerome, this deception was enough because he probably hadn't had much contact with firearms until his first escape from Arkham. Someone like Jim, however, I could not have fooled with that."

Oswald sighed. "Tell me." The longer he searched, the more false clues he thought he would find on the bullet.

Edward took the bullet and held it so Oswald could look at its surface. "Run a finger across the metal."

He had to take off a glove first, but then he let an index finger slide over the surface and felt a very fine unevenness on the metal. "That's all?"

"That's all."

"Yo, ice cube, flamethrower," Jerome called and snapped twice with the fingers of his hands tied behind his back. Freeze and Firefly stopped in front of him with enough distance. "There's something bothering me. You work for Oswald, don't ya?"

Both remained silent.

"Not very talkative, are ya? Anyway, I was wondering why. With your skills, you could be Gotham's greatest villains!"

Firefly remained calm, but Freeze replied. "He pays well."

"He pays well?" Jerome raised both brows, complete lack of understanding on his face. "And you have financial worries?"

"No. I need the money to undo my condition."

"Undo it?! Why?! Where's the fun in that? So people like Gordon don't have to be afraid of you anymore?"

Freeze arched his brows.

Jerome smacked his lips once. "You know, if it were up to me – just my opinion – you could pile up all the money in this whole town, shower it with gasoline and burn it. And all those who were abandoned by this city – by folks like Gordon and also by stinking rich people like our friend Oswald and little Brucey – could warm themselves by the fire. That would be one hell of a party! Don't ya think the world would be a better place with fewer people interested in something as pathetic as money?"

"That's enough. You wait with your friends until we figure out how to get you out of here." Jim forced Jerome to his feet and took him to his two followers in the next room.

Little by little, everyone left the bar. Jeremiah, who suddenly covered his mouth and claimed that he was going to throw up, initiated this. The last to leave were Gordon, Edward and Oswald, who were outside talking about how to get the captives out of the Narrows while Jim tried to contact Harvey. As yet, none of them noticed that Martin was missing.

\---

Martin was sure that this time he could be of use to his father. He had noticed something and followed Bruce, Lee, Selina and Jeremiah when they went to Edward's apartment to provide Jeremiah who had vomited outside the bar with fluids and let him rest. Jeremiah then lay down in Edward's bedroom, Lee had checked on him one last time and then went out to Jim to make sure he wouldn't be left alone with Edward and Oswald, and Bruce and Selina had sat down in the kitchen.

Martin had a very strange feeling about Jeremiah. He felt uneasy around him, but he had no proof. At least until now. Right now he was following him because Jeremiah had snuck out of the bedroom and went down the stairs to the bar.

He was praising himself as he watched Jeremiah look around the square in front of the bar and finally disappear inside. Martin followed him only after he had had a good look around himself. He wondered where his father had gone with the others and if they were already back inside the bar. But when he entered the bar himself, the main room was empty and Martin frowned in perplexity.

A rattle from the adjoining room made him flinch, then soft voices were heard.

"Do you realize what I had to do to get here. It wasn't very appetizing."

Tbc


	28. Smoke & Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the first part of the chapter Martin overhears a meeting that he would have been better off never knowing of. In the second part Oswald is faced with the scary task of sharing a bed with his boyfriend.

Chapter 28

**Smoke & Mirrors**

"And yet you came," Jerome replied with a broad grin, a grin that caused Jeremiah to lose control of his facial muscles.

"Don't assume I've come to help you," he spat.

Jerome pursed his lips in feigned humility. "Would never occur to me." Then he grinned again. "So, why then deceive your _new friends_? At least Brucie must know what you're up to, right? No? No, of course not. He'd be against it." He looked Jeremiah in the eye for a long moment, and from that point on Jeremiah sensed that Jerome knew exactly what he was really here for. "He would disapprove of what you're planning. He wouldn't have the guts to do it. But you, you have it in you. It's in your blood. In your DNA. _Madness_."

Jeremiah had clenched one hand into a fist. He wanted to argue against his brother, but what was the point? He took one deep breath and released it with a puff, then turned away from the bound Jerome, beside whom his two worshipers sat to the left and right, and thoughtfully guided his right hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. "If you already know, let's make this quick." He pulled out a folding knife, turning haltingly on his heels to show it to Jerome, who looked oddly pleased.

"A knife to cut ties with your brother? Oh, that's fitting. Exactly my type of humor." The wide grin on his face didn't lie.

Jeremiah cleared his throat, unable to maintain eye contact with his brother. His heart was pounding with excitement and something else. "Bruce and the policemen don't understand that there's no point in locking you up. They believe too much in good and follow their principles. Someone has to free them from it."

Jerome raised his brows. "So you'll take the heavy burden off their shoulders? Play the hero? Now that's ridiculous." A giggle erupted from him, with so much force that it pushed Jerome back against the wall. "You're trying to hide it behind this whole hero act, but you and I know that you're trying to kill me for a much more selfish reason. And who could blame you? The relief when the blade pierces through the flesh and leaves you wondering if it was really that easy, if it should really be that easy, if we humans are really just fragile sacks of flesh, guts and blood." His laugh was husky, mingled with a purr. "You wanna kill me because you know it'll feel good, because you and I aren't so different after all. It's not just the body we share, dear brother."

Jeremiah pressed his lips together, eyeing the man in front of him, with his scarred, chapped lips and deformed face that bore little resemblance to him, yet withheld comment.

"I want to ask you something first."

"Shoot."

Jeremiah looked left and right at Jerome's worshipers for a moment, as if he were uncomfortable with the fact that they were listening. "What was your goal when you came here?"

Jerome gave him an incredulous look, but answered anyway. "Huh. What do you think? I wanted to see you, brother."

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

Jerome laughed. "You actually still believe I have an interest in killing you?" He shook his head as if rebuking.

Jeremiah raised the knife threateningly – at least he wanted to make it look threatening, because in fact his hand was trembling and therefore he looked quite scared. "Then what were you trying to accomplish with that last game!?"

"Ah, the last game." Jerome grinned as if in reminiscence of a warm summer day. At least, that's how Jeremiah thought someone must look when they thought of a nice summer day. To him, his childhood was blurry, like a picture of watercolors over which someone had poured the brush water, and so he no longer knew for sure if he had ever really enjoyed a summer. His time at St. Ignatius, on the other hand, felt like a long, snow-free winter compared to the blur of childhood, crammed in his room behind a skyline of books or buried under sketches; his only friends: pencil, compass, calculator and ruler.

Even after he had met Ecco on a rare outing after graduation, and she had joined him, only two things had changed in his day-to-day life. For one thing, he was able to spend even more time in his hiding place, since Ecco took care of everything that required direct communication, and secondly, the many conversations he had with himself now and then did not stay in the empty air.

Jerome, on the other hand, wished he could forget the memories of his childhood or let them blur into a soothing mush. When he thought of a warm summer day, he could already smell the stench of steaming animal feces that lay like a wet cloth over the circus and followed it everywhere. He could also see his mother, who had always used hot days as an excuse to run around outside her bedroom dressed in nothing but a robe, with absolutely no regard for Jerome, and disappear into the trees with clowns and tightrope jumpers. Her sex life had always been dissolute, but until the night that Jeremiah had left the circus, she had always shown at least a hint of consideration for her sons. After her sweetheart had left, however, she had been indifferent to the possibility of Jerome hearing her. Jeremiah she had carried on hands, Jerome on the other hand she had pushed down the steps of her trailer – even though he and Jeremiah were so much alike. It was almost comical, but Jerome kind of wished his mother was still alive, so he could show her just _how_ alike they were.

"I'd hoped to put a few holes in Bruce." Jerome grinned. "After seeing you two together, I wanted to see how you'd react." His eyes flashed with dark rapture. 

Jeremiah gritted his teeth. Jerome had probably intended the same thing with the knife he'd thrown at Selina during the show. "What for? To prove a point? _One bad day?_ "

Jerome's grin widened. "Oh, no, no need for that. With you, all it takes is a little nudge in the right direction." He cocked his head to the side. "Done with the questions now? If not, your friends might be back before you've even cut me open."

"No." He pulled out something that sent Jerome into silent euphoria. It was the bow tie with the detonator button that had been taken from Jerome after his capture. "Who carries the explosives?" If his brother still had a hostage somewhere, Jeremiah had to find out. Bruce would surely approve of that.

"Hmm." Jerome had his lips pursed forward in feigned thoughtfulness. "Who was that again?" He let his gaze circle, then looked in turn at his two worshipers. "Maybe one of these two."

Jeremiah was aghast. He had known his brother was crazy, but he had never expected him to strap a bomb to one of his allies.

Carefully, he put the knife and bow tie aside, then approached the man sitting to Jerome's left. He opened his straitjacket, but there was no sign of a bomb. So he ran to the second man and repeated the procedure – again without success.

Jerome had watched the whole thing with amusement.

"Where's the bomb?" demanded Jeremiah.

"Push the button and find out," Jerome joked.

Jeremiah was rattled when both of his brother's worshipers then pulled their heads between their shoulders in panic and whimpered. They were obviously expecting to be blown to pieces. And that in turn meant that one of them must indeed carry explosives.

That was enough to make Jeremiah inspect the two worshipers again – this time even more thoroughly. Shocked, he sucked in his breath as he lifted one man's shirt and saw the inflamed scar that stretched across his entire abdominal wall and had been only messily closed with a few stitches. Out of a sudden feeling, he stumbled over to the second man and found the exact same scar. He shook his head, shocked.

"It's two bombs," he spoke weakly, but Jerome clicked his tongue in denial.

"Look at my face, dear brother – do you think I would lie to you?"

Jeremiah left the question unanswered, and Jerome grinned serenely.

"By the way, I'd recommend you never have a bomb and a dummy planted in the same process and then kill the doctor afterwards – at least not if you wanna know who's the firework and who's the blank." He giggled.

With a weak shake of his head, Jeremiah turned away from the three men. It was all too much for him right now. But as he picked up the knife and the bow tie again, an idea forced itself into his mind that he couldn't ignore. No matter how risky it was, no matter how cruel, he couldn't resist the urge. And so he turned back to Jerome, who immediately recognized the twinkle in his eye.

"It would only be fair if you died by your own bomb."

He had expected that at least the prospect of an explosive death would bring out Jerome's fear, but instead his brother seemed downright excited.

"In that case, you might wanna take a few steps back, eh? Unless you like blood and guts on your fancy suit." Jerome giggled, then looked around the room and pointed with his chin to a corner where several large cardboard boxes stood.

Jeremiah followed his gesture, nodding to himself several times in contemplation before finding the will to actually trudge into the corner, the bow tie between his quivering fingers.

"Yep, should be far enough," Jerome said after Jeremiah had disappeared behind the boxes.

Jeremiah swallowed. He wasn't ready for this. "Any-- any last words?"

"Cheerio, little brother. I'm proud of you. You finally did it." If Jeremiah hadn't been standing behind the boxes, he would have seen how wide and grimacing his brother's grin was. But as it was, all he heard was the soft chuckle that made him tense his thumbs over the button. His breath resembled a gasp, his heart that of a frightened guinea pig. But he was firmly convinced that it was his destiny, his duty, to put a stop to his brother's madness. And so he yelled all the nervousness away and pressed the red button, which suddenly felt like solid marble.

Then silence fell.

"W-what..." Jeremiah looked down at the button, then around the corner to where his brother sat, completely unharmed. The two men to his left and right had huddled together, whimpering, but Jerome just grinned broadly. Now Jeremiah was sure that he was being played with. That Jerome was playing with all of them.

But before he could come out of hiding and finish the job with the knife, as he had planned from the very beginning, he heard a hissing noise and colored gas rose from four small grooves on the back of the bow tie. Jeremiah gasped, threw the bow tie to the ground and raised his hands to his face, but it was too late. He had already inhaled a considerable amount in the initial panic. His head felt light, his chest heavy as brass. The first giggle that escaped him was eerie, the second painful, but from the third it felt like the most normal thing in the world. He laid his head back, buried his fingers in his hair, and laughed at the top of his lungs as the gas rushed through his bloodstream like water through heating pipes.

Several minutes must have passed before Jeremiah emerged from behind the boxes, his skin strangely pale, his eyes piercing like an eagle's and at the same time beautiful as pear blossoms. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, but several strands immediately fell back onto his forehead.

"How do you feel, brother? This special blend was made just for you." Jerome's eyes grew wide as Jeremiah stepped closer to him. All fear and nervousness had disappeared from his face. Jerome had never seen his brother with such an indifferent expression. Although he suddenly looked so different, he hadn't even batted an eye when he had looked at his distorted reflection in the blade of the knife.

With very slow movements, Jeremiah shut the folding knife and tucked it back into his jacket. "Little brother." He didn't look at Jerome as he spoke, instead removing his glasses next and stowing them in his jacket as well. 

Jerome merely raised his brows, and when Jeremiah finally did look to him, quiet arrogance in his eyes, he tilted his head in wait. 

"That's what you called me earlier," Jeremiah explained. His voice had changed, becoming calmer, calm and calculating at the same time. "But since you spend a year in a refrigerator, I'm now the older brother. With that, you lose the last advantage you ever had over me – that is, if you ever had any other." Toward the end, his words had turned into a derisive hum.

"Oh, hello, brother. At last, you show yourself," Jerome breathed enthusiastically, leaning far forward until the bonds with which he was tied to the radiator cut into his flesh.

Jeremiah raised both brows, giving him a much more condescending expression. "And now what do you want me to do? Do you really think I'd release you just because you gave me a little make-over? Don't be absurd."

Now Jerome actually seemed a little gruff. He grunted sullenly, but tried to cover it up with a dirty grin.

Jeremiah took another step closer. "And then what? Should I join your insane plan? Taking over the city with clowns, jugglers, and fire-eaters?" Though he didn't laugh, the amusement was evident from his tone, emerging from his lips as a cool sneer. His eyes flashed, rigid and deprecating.

"You don't even know what I'm up to," Jerome grinned bewitchingly, but Jeremiah merely chuckled in response, raising his hands a bit to his lips as if the laughter had escaped him completely unintentionally, and he would try in vain to stop it. Immediately Jerome joined in, laughing manically, while his two worshipers looked momentarily disconcerted.

"I already had an idea what you were going to use the airship for, but now I know for sure. And for what purpose? To make everyone as insane as you?" Jeremiah shook his head dismissively.

"What would you suggest?" Jerome knowingly lowered his chin to his chest. "No, wait, don't tell me. I, too, can already guess what your plan would be."

Jeremiah seemed almost offended that Jerome apparently thought he could see through him so easily. "Can you?"

"Hmm, reading you is not as hard as you'd wish it to be, brother. Huh. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You'll probably think _I've some screws loose_ , but whaddya say we combine our ideas? Let's say 70-30 in my favor, eh?"

Jeremiah slowly raised both brows. "Seventy percent? From a completely obvious plan?"

"Why don't we call it the 'little brother bonus', huh?" Jerome's grin was gloating.

"Why would I even want to work with you? I can't see any advantage to cooperating with a madman."

"C'mon, brother. No one living in Gotham is without madness – the only difference is that some people's madness is ignored while others are shunned for it. Cops suppress the urge to simply gun down anyone who opposes them, doctors hide the thrill they feel when playing with life, journalists claim to be spreading awareness when they hold the camera on the burning skyscraper hoping someone will jump out the window and burst in a bloody _SPLASH_ , politicians claim to be standing up for the citizens when they curtail their basic rights, and mime dismay when the most miserable of them rot in the gutter. _Now what's that if not madness?_ "

A soft sound, like the collision of two pebbles on a stone-covered beach, jolted Jeremiah from his thoughts. He glanced at the door, noticing that it was no longer closed, but merely ajar. Saying, "60 percent I, 40 percent you, and you don't act without my consent," he tossed the jackknife at Jerome's feet before slowly walking toward the door.

Jerome immediately pulled the knife towards him with an enthusiastic grin. They could talk about the exact terms of their cooperation later.

Jeremiah opened the door, first a crack and finally all the way. He grinned when he saw the boy, who had backed away several steps at Jeremiah's appearance, tripping over his own small feet and falling backwards, hands pressed to the floor in search of protection, eyes fixed in panic on the man in front of him, whose grin was bloodcurdling.

"Who do we have here?"

\---

It had taken time to get through to Bullock, but now a helicopter was finally on its way to them on the island to transport the prisoners away. While they had been taking care of Jerome in the Narrows, Harvey, along with Alfred and Ivy, had been busy with two other criminals: Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch. And while Crane had been happy to get a chance to take revenge on one of his father's murderers, Tetch had been disappointed to find not Jim Gordon as his antagonist, but instead an old police captain, an even much older butler, and a childish witch. But he probably shouldn't have underestimated the latter in particular. With powers approaching magic, she overcame both his hypnosis and his henchmen and was able to capture him even before Alfred and Harvey had managed to defeat Crane. Her new abilities were reminiscent of those of a dryad who, instead of belonging to just one tree, had declared the entire leafy city to be her home and her charge, and in return the whole nature had lent its power to her.

Ivy was relieved that neither Alfred nor Bullock had noticed the power she suddenly had. She had an old pharmacy store in the Narrows to thank for her new abilities, whose owner had given her everything she wanted after a quick whiff of her perfume. The conversation with Penguin, in which he had made it clear to her that they had to rely on the GCPD as long as they had no other strong allies, had then given her the last jolt to imbibe the many remedies in the brown little vials, after which she had fallen into a deep slumber with aching guts and a spray of sparks before her eyes. A few hours later she had awakened again, with a very strange feeling, weightless and yet strong, with tingling fingertips and burning veins. She hadn't hesitated for a second when Bullock had jokingly asked who else wanted to come to the mainland with him – after Alfred had invited himself without being asked. It had been the perfect opportunity to put her new self to the test without Penguin learning about it yet. She wanted to surprise him when the right moment came, to show him as well as everyone else that she was strong and capable of protecting them all. 

Jim made his way back to the bar with Lee, Edward and Oswald. For the umpteenth time, Oswald was badgering him, trying to convince Jim to leave Jerome in the Narrows – and thereby issue him a guaranteed death sentence.

"I would be breaking the law," he said.

"Wouldn't be the first time. Some men can't be stopped by noble righteousness, Jim – and you know that," Oswald insisted, no doubt alluding to Theo Galavan.

"I regret what I did that day."

Oswald raised his brows doubtfully. "Do you?"

Suddenly, a surprised scream escaped Oswald, and he slumped in initial shock. Edward, Lee and Jim were also startled, staring with Oswald at the building from which a loud detonation had sounded. If he squinted his eyes, Edward could even make out smoke climbing into the pitch-black sky from the back of the bar.

"What the hell..." Jim was the first to reach the building, Oswald the last. Everyone had a tensed expression on their faces when Jim opened the door.

"What happened?"

In the bar, all the lights were turned off, yet they saw Jeremiah. He was sitting on the floor like a frightened rabbit, staring into the adjoining room. When Jim rushed to him, he pointed a trembling finger into the room. Then, whimpering, he slid up to the wall, and therefore further into the darkness, just as Jim turned on the light in the adjoining room.

"How could he escape..." The tremor in Jeremiah's voice was believable. That he pressed his forehead to his knees in the face of a possible resurgence of terror by his brother was something everyone ate up. But even if he had been a lesser actor, no one would have questioned him, as everyone present just stared into the adjoining room with chalk-white faces.

"What happened?"

"What was that loud bang?"

Bruce and Selina had stormed out of Edward's apartment. With uncertainty, they pushed forward to get a glimpse of the adjoining room as well. All eyes suddenly fell on Oswald and Edward, the former of whom stumbled forward, mouth open, staring in disbelief, and sinking to his knees before the small body. Then he just sat there, not daring to touch his son, too afraid of him crumbling before his eyes. "No..." He sobbed. "No... please..."

He didn't know when it had happened, but suddenly Lee appeared beside him, checking Martin's pulse. As a doctor, she had to pull herself together, couldn't show how hard this was on her, how much the tears were already burning in her eyes. Her own heartbeat was ringing in her ears, making it difficult to feel anything. And yet, after somehow managing to compose herself, she could hear it. It was faint. More the ponderous dripping of a leaky faucet than the excited flutter of a child's heart. But it beat. It was beating.

"He's alive!" exclaimed Lee, bringing color back into Oswald's pitiful grimace.

"Will he--"

"I can't tell. The wounds are severe, and I have nothing here to stop the bleeding."

"Then, then-- the helicopter." Oswald turned to Jim, who nodded immediately, then back to Lee. "If we can get him to Gotham General--"

"He could make it."

" _Could?_ "

Lee lowered her eyes. "I don't want to make any promises. But they'll certainly do whatever they can."

"That... **that's not good enough!** I can't... he can't..." Tears streamed from Oswald's red face. "I have to know he'll live!" Oswald would never forgive himself if Martin died.

"There's no guarantee... even if the helicopter shows up right now – it could take too long."

Edward was torn. He was torn because he knew of a way to save Martin that was guaranteed, but a devil had just swung onto his shoulder to whisper to him that it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of the unwanted son. Oswald didn't know what Edward knew. He didn't know that they were only a few steps away from a guaranteed cure. And it could stay that way, couldn't it? He struggled with himself. And as so often in such situations, he tried logic first. So while for the others at most a minute passed, Edward asked himself psychological questions in his head such as: How much would Oswald be affected by his son's death? How long would his mourning period last? Would he suffer trauma? Or depression? And at some point he got stuck on a question he'd asked himself the last time Isabella was still alive: Would having a child really be so bad?

"Jerome must still be on the island. You should try to find him," Edward spoke, then knelt down to Martin, and Oswald and lifted the boy onto his shoulder before grabbing Oswald's hand and pulling him to his feet.

"E-Ed?"

Edward did not answer, instead striding out of the bar with a determined expression, pulling Oswald behind him, who struggled to keep up with Edward's wide strides.

"Ed, where are you taking us?"

"I'm sorry I kept it from you, but I had to keep Fish from finding him. Now that she's dead, it doesn't matter."

Oswald's eyelids fluttered open. "Who are you talking about?" He already knew the answer.

"Hugo Strange."

\---

"I can't believe you kept this from me. For how long did you have him? Was it actually _you_ who kidnapped him?"

They walked up the many steps to the large factory building. The green frosted glass windows looked down on them like the tired eyes of a giant, and the many tall chimneys blew smoke steadily into the air.

"Me? What are you thinking? He claims he'd been kidnapped by Jonathan Crane – for his knowledge of Arkham. Then, the day before Jerome broke out, he was picked up in the Narrows and brought to me. I gave him protection. In return, he promised to tell me whenever he was up to something."

"And you're planning to entrust my son to him, _of all people_?"

"Uh-huh." No one could deny that Hugo Strange had excellent medical knowledge, and unlike Gotham General, he was right inside the Narrows and had the necessary equipment.

The high doors to the factory opened as if by magic and led them into a long hallway at the end of which Hugo Strange was already approaching them with slow steps and hands clasped together in front of his stomach. Edward wondered if he had placed cameras outside the doors that he had missed in his haste.

"Ah, Mr. Nygma, pleasure to see you. Oh, and Mr. Cobblepot. How wonderful to know you two are back together."

"Enough of this, Professor. I want you to save the boy's life."

As Strange approached Edward, he lowered Martin a little, so he could have a look at him.

"For you, saving him shouldn't be a problem, right?"

Strange flashed a toothless smile. "Indeed. In fact, you're just in time. We have everything here to prevent the unfortunate death of this child."

Oswald pressed forward. "Then – _please_ – do it. I'm willing to pay any price."

First a short laugh, then Strange lowered his lids nefariously. " _Any_ _price?_ "

They followed Strange down the hall and into a room that looked like what you'd imagine a mad doctor's lab would look like. White, glaring light, as if one were already in the afterlife. High ceilings. In the middle, a semi-automatic treatment chair, and around it all kinds of medical and biochemical tools.

On the way, Strange had given them a whole lecture about how much it had always bothered him to be dependent on people's bodies for resurrection, and that his cloning attempts had up to that day never produced the perfect result he was striving for. Whereas his reincarnations had been bursting with life, his clones had so far lacked any real vitality. They moved, spoke and could be educated, but in the end they remained empty, short-lived shells that put on an act. He therefore looked for new ways.

"Here we are. Put the boy there." Strange turned to a metal tray, picked up a scalpel, then turned to Oswald. "You said you were willing to pay any price for the boy's life. You will be pleasantly surprised to know that I won't ask for much. Let's say... huh, what are we going to take? Ah, I know: one eye, and we're even." He pronounced it innocently, succinctly as if he had only asked for a saliva sample.

"One..." Oswald faltered. An eye was nothing compared to Martin's life, so why didn't he agree right away?

"That's not an option!" Edward interjected. "If you must, take one of mine."

Strange smirked. "That's very touching, Mr. Nygma, but I'm not interested in your eyes. Anyway, did you know that human DNA is preserved in the eye the longest? Fascinating, isn't it? There's a reason eyes are 'the gateway to the world'." He laughed softly under his breath.

Edward clenched his jaw. "You live under my--"

"Agreed."

Puzzled, Edward turned to his friend. "Pardon me?"

"He can have my eye."

Strange was ecstatic. "Don't worry, Mr. Cobblepot, in exchange I will provide you with a replacement. I must warn you, though: eyes are very complex organs. It's possible that nerves will be damaged during the transplant, and your vision will be reduced in the new eye."

"I'm ready."

\---

2 years later

"And done." Edward closed the tube of eye ointment and then rose from the couch to return the small medical bag to the kitchen. The news was playing in the background at a muted volume.

Oswald blinked several times to clear the cool, heavy feeling from his eyeball. "Thanks, Ed."

"How's your vision? Are you in any pain, or--"

Smirking, Oswald raised a palm. Edward, as usual, was worrying far too much. "My vision is sharp, and I have no pain – honestly. After two years, even you should start to believe that the transplant went well." While the color of his old eye hadn't been matched perfectly, the difference was minimal and was primarily characterized by the new eye being a little more bluish. So far, however, no one had asked him about the different colored eyes, so Oswald really didn't care much whether it could be seen or not.

With a little clearing of his throat, Edward adjusted his glasses. "The chances of you losing vision faster in your new eye as you get older are still very high."

"Ed? I'm thirty-five – can we maybe postpone this conversation for ten years?"

"You can never start early enough to prepare for old age."

With the speed of a predator and the elegance of a manatee, Oswald struggled out of the couch cushions and reached for the remote control to turn up the volume. A photo of Jerome Valeska grinned back at him from the television and set his blood boiling. Edward immediately stepped closer to the couch as well.

"This day two years ago was the last time anyone heard from Jerome Valeska. According to the police, he is still on the run, and there are no clues to his whereabouts. The citizens of Gotham are right to wonder if this was the last time he'd been seen, or if he'll be back soon to strike fear into the hearts of innocent citizens."

Oswald couldn't decide between relief and anger. For two years he had pondered how Jerome had escaped that night, and why he had kept his scarred face hidden ever since. The destruction in the bar had indicated that he had used explosives. The scraps of skin and blown away body parts that had been found had further made it appear that said explosives had been planted in one of his two helpers. Perhaps he had planned from the beginning to be caught and then escape in this way. But in that case his appearing would have served no real purpose. What was the point of getting caught if you were going to escape again anyway? It gave Oswald a headache. Moreover, there was something he had not told Gordon and Bullock, but of which he himself was firmly convinced, namely that Freeze and Firefly had helped Jerome escape, for they too had suddenly disappeared without a trace.

Oswald turned off the TV with audible aggression and strangled the remote between his fingers. "Two years and still no word from him." By now, Gordon and Bullock had also put the active search on hold. For only the first few months after Jerome's escape, they had still been working with Edward and Oswald, turning the Narrows upside down with forensic teams.

"There is an upside to this. If Gotham continues to be this peaceful, nothing will stand in the way of your re-election," Edward argued as he left the living room.

In fact, with the disappearance of Jerome Valeska and the arrest of Crane and Tetch, Gotham had gone quiet. Now that Oswald's business was no longer being disrupted by overzealous new criminals, and he no longer had to invest so much time in chasing down those who stood in his way of making progress as both mob boss and mayor, he had more time to devote to other things. It often happens that in such a time of boredom, one rediscovers old interests – and such was the case with Oswald. So the renovation of the Narrows came more than handy, as it allowed him to revive his old passion as a club owner. For the past month, the 'Iceberg Lounge' had been considered the nightly meeting place for high society. The area around the luxurious club was even behind whispered breaths referred to as 'Penguina'. Whereas more nefarious characters preferred the newly renovated and massively expanded 'Riddle Factory'. Its entire establishment was underground, and it specialized in cruel games and colorful cocktails. Similar to the Foxglove, however, one could only gain access to the Riddle Factory if invited. All those who tried without an invitation fell victim to a deadly game of riddles.

With the renovation of the Narrows and its growth into a small economic power, the relationship with Gotham had also changed. While the GCPD did not like the development in the Narrows, there was nothing anyone could do about it because of the newfound peacefulness and the fact that the governor completely ignored the situation and simply let Mayor Cobblepot have his way. The new Narrows were silently tolerated and already adored by the public as a hotspot of social activity.

So there had been no problem when Oswald had decided to have a new mansion built in the Narrows, which had also been Oswald's and Edward's primary residence since its completion. Although the Van Dahl mansion had been repaired by then, it was hardly used anymore. In fact, Oswald held on to it solely for sentimental reasons. He could never sell the house where his parents had fallen in love.

The new mansion, with the somewhat bumpy name 'Cobblepot Manor', was a pompous stone building with a honeycomb-shaped entrance and a long east and west wing. With its tall lattice windows, heavy wooden double door, and shallow stone staircase rising between two graceful statues of penguins on pedestals to the entrance, Cobblepot Manor radiated the old yet luxurious charm that Oswald loved so much. A wide front yard surrounded by black metal fences with plenty of room for cars, and a bed of lilies framed by shapely boxwood plants that replaced the obligatory fountain, also provided the privacy a mayor's/mafia boss's home needed.

After taking the medical bag to the kitchen, Edward stepped through a glass door into the mansion's back garden, where, among other things, stood a large greenhouse. Inside, a breeze of sultry air hit him and sweat began to collect unpleasantly on the collar of his white shirt.

"Ivy?" He moved through the jungle of colorful plants that had stretched across the floor like a sleeping monstrosity, even reaching up to the glass walls and ceiling.

"Back here!" a voice announced, and Edward followed it through vines until he found Ivy standing with Martin in front of a marked-off flowerbed.

First he turned to the boy. "Olga is waiting for you inside to put ointment on your scar."

Immediately Martin jumped off, not wanting to keep the maid waiting. As Strange had promised, Martin had survived the severe wounding. All that had remained was a scar between his heart and stomach, so far only faintly faded. But despite all the recovery, Martin had lost parts of his memory – at least the part concerning the night of Jerome's escape. This was nothing unusual after such a traumatic experience, but Edward, who was desperate to bring the truth about that night to light, was frustrated that even no remedy from Ivy, no therapy, and finally no natural mumbo-jumbo had been able to bring Martin's memories back. Now, they just waited and hoped that time was the remedy for recovery.

But how long would it take? Martin was no longer an elementary school student. In fact, he didn't attend school at all. Because he had missed so much material due to his long recovery phase that he would have had to repeat the last grade of elementary school, Oswald had decided to organize homeschooling for the 'Prince of Gotham'. Edward did not have the slightest idea of how much would change between him and Martin when he had offered Oswald to take on the role of teacher.

He was first struck by Martin's cleverness – the speed with which the child processed difficult information, making connections at the age of eleven that a Harvey Bullock could not have made even in the prime of his schooling. Next, there was the boy's curiosity. No matter what subject, Martin was enthusiastic about everything, and very soon subjects like math, biology, physics, chemistry, but also English literature and technology were within Martin's grasp in such a way that he could have kept up with students who were already about to take their college entrance exams. But what had probably softened him up the most was the fact that one day he had found in Martin's room the book of children's riddles that had passed from Edward's possession to the in-house library of Cobblepot Manor.

To Oswald's chagrin, the Cobblepot offspring was extremely adept at riddles, and on many days he thought he was going mad because he was now suddenly surrounded by two riddle buffs. For this reason, Oswald tried as often as possible to give Martin some lessons himself – in politics, history, finance, and finally in the use of weapons of any kind. The latter was 'their little secret', as Oswald was unsure how Edward would feel about letting Martin study semi-automatic firearms and showing him the deadliest angle of penetration of a knife. What Oswald didn't know was that Martin and Ivy also had a 'little secret', and he learned all about botany and plant poisons from her, and that even Edward was a bad influence on him when he taught him, among other things, how to recognize a firearm by its bullet hole. The latter, however, had instructed Martin not only to keep their lessons secret from Oswald, but especially from Olga. The maid had recently caught him showing Martin photos of a dead body and had thereupon turned into a fire-breathing dragon. Since then, Oswald wondered every day at dinner why Edward's dinner plate was always filled with an extra portion of onions, which Edward then always removed one by one with a disgusted grimace. Of course Edward could reprimand the maid as the second head of the household, but then he would probably have to tell Oswald the truth. So both, Edward and Oswald, kept silent, and neither knew of the other's secret lessons, neither knew that they were in the process of training Martin to be a cunning and versatile rogue.

"Ivy, would you do me a favor and stop by Miss Kean's club tonight to give her this?" He handed her a letter.

"You got it, Eddie." Since Edward was again living with Oswald under the same roof, he too was not immune to Ivy's belittlements.

Inside the mansion, he passed Oswald, who was in the process of pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Edward's eagerness made him look up.

"Do you have anything else to do?"

Edward hesitated. "I was going to put the second bedding in your room."

"Ah... yes... of course." Oswald struggled to avoid Edward's searching gaze.

It had taken a long time, but Oswald had finally agreed to share a bed with Edward – completely without sexual contact, of course. The last two years had been nothing but stressful – the renovation of the Narrows, Martin and Oswald's recovery, the moving, mayoral duties. And so both men had talked themselves into giving the sexual issues a rest for the time being. Talked themselves into it because, for Edward, not a month had gone by in which he hadn't been studying sexual inhibitions, but had decided, for the sake of Oswald's recovery, to wait to bring up the subject again. And, for Oswald, it had been impossible to continue his alcohol-fueled sexual experimentation since he had resumed sharing the house with Edward. Every now and then, however, he caught himself dreaming about Edward. Each time he would then awaken just before the imaginative union with a throbbing chest and shortness of breath – but at the same time with a painful erection. For hours, he would then lie there, hating himself for even the slightest form of friction – every tightening of the pelvis, every pressure, however innocent, against the far-too-light bedspread that sent a brief relief rushing through his body. In those moments, he resembled less a man in his mid-thirties and more a child having his first innocent experiences with his sexuality. But unlike the child, he couldn't enjoy the feeling. Would he have stayed away from a relationship altogether if he had known this would be one of the consequences?

"Are you planning to visit the Iceberg Lounge later?" Edward asked, still in the doorway.

"Um, no, I don't think so." He'd just drown his nerves in alcohol, and who knew what that would lead to.

"Good, I'll wait for you upstairs."

A small sentence and yet it affected Oswald's whole body – dry throat, dizzy emptiness, the feeling of carrying a fat toad in his stomach. This night was so important, and so scary. Never before had he shared a bed with anyone – with the exception of his mother, whom he had often climbed into bed with as a child, and who had sometimes even joined him for a few hours at a later age, for example to massage his temples. Especially the latter had bothered him the first few times – after all, he was no longer a child at that time – but his mother had been a stubborn woman and had insisted on showering her 'little Kapelput' with affection even in his teenage years and adulthood.

\---

Olga had long since put Martin to bed when Oswald was still sitting by the fire in the parlor with a half-empty glass in his hand. Above the crackling fireplace hung a large painting of his parents, which, along with a picture of Edward and one of himself, he had commissioned from a famous portrait artist.

He wondered if Edward was still waiting, or if he had already fallen asleep while his own eyes drifted shut, weighed down by fatigue. But a shattering woke him up again. The shards of his whiskey glass covered the expensive wooden floor.

With a groan, he rose from the chair, put out the fire, and shuffled up the stairs to his bedroom. He couldn't escape sharing a bed with Edward anyway. The door opened to a faint orange glow, and Oswald's heart skipped a beat when he saw Edward sitting in bed, a book in his hands, dressed in green-striped pajamas. He smiled as Oswald entered the room. The deep dimples heated Oswald's cheeks. His feelings no longer matched. Fear and love. Panic and desire.

He took extra time in the adjoining dressing room, let shame drive him to choose the thickest pajamas he owned, and then headed to the bathroom to excessively clean his teeth, body, and face. By the time he stepped back into the bedroom, he had probably applied more hygiene products than he had in all the last few days combined, and was still accompanied by self-doubt as he slipped under the covers next to Edward.

Frantically, his fingers clutched the blanket, pulling it up to his chin. "Good night."

"Good night."

Only a few minutes later he heard Edward close the book and turn off the lamp next to the bed. And since the curtains were closed, he plunged the entire bedroom into endless darkness with the flip of the switch.

Oswald could hear his heart beating, and every breath was like a blast of wind. He stared at the ceiling, or through it, because he couldn't really see it anyway, and felt the strong warmth emanating from Edward's body next to him. If he moved his hand just a bit to the left, he would be able to touch him.

"Oswald?"

"Huh?"

"Are you perfumed?" Edward had lowered his brows in irritation. The smell of Oswald's perfume filled the entire room, buzzing around Edward's skull as if he were trapped in a goldfish bowl.

"No," Oswald lied, turning shamefully away from Edward as he pulled the blanket even higher. The only thing worse than Edward noticing was that he was now laughing softly.

"Are you nervous?" asked Edward which Oswald took as another attack.

He gritted his teeth in offense. "No, I'm not."

Edward gave a weird grin. "I am. But happy, too."

It would be an understatement to say that this sentence relieved Oswald. With a soft sigh, he rolled onto his back again. "I don't know if I can sleep."

"Aren't you tired?" Edward saw himself already plodding into the kitchen, heating milk.

"I am." He wasn't going to say it. Edward had to figure it out for himself.

"It's because I'm here."

"I think so."

"Oh... would it help you, perhaps, if I waited until you fell asleep?"

Oswald straightened up on the mattress, startled. "What?! Um, no, I... I think-- I think it would help me more if you fell asleep before me."

Edward lifted his eyes in surprise. That had been easier than he had expected. " _Roger, dodger._ May I have a good-night kiss first?" He rose slowly as well, sat up next to Oswald on the mattress, and then leaned over a bit to his boyfriend until he could feel his faltering breath. He couldn't see it, but imagined that the enormous heat emanating from Oswald's face reflected his shame. "So I can fall asleep faster."

"Um..." Oswald moistened his dry lips several times. He didn't usually find kissing difficult, but this was a very different situation. It was one of those situations he would have classified as taboo just yesterday – along with too long and intense hugs, French kisses and sensual whispers. "All right," he heard himself say, his voice sounding raspy.

A few seconds passed, during which Oswald sat in the darkness with his heart racing, waiting for Edward to lean forward. When he finally felt the tickle of the first touch of his lips, he winced so hard inside that he almost recoiled from his friend. He heard Edward sigh softly, heard himself sigh, and finally pressed himself against the other's lips. He felt that the darkness and being on the warm mattress made the touching that much more intense. It became most apparent to him when Edward's hands on the back of his neck, his fingers in his short hair, made him shiver. He resisted the urge to place his own hands on Edward's chest, then let them travel from there to his jaw, in gentle, tender motions. But the very thought of it was enough to make him shudder again, and at the same time send an unpleasant twinge to his stomach.

A moment later, Edward broke away from him, and despite the darkness, Oswald thought he could see him grinning. "Okay then. Good night." Immediately Edward lowered himself back onto the mattress, and Oswald wondered if his friend had just played a devilish game with him.

As he laid himself back on the mattress, pulled the blanket back up to his chin, his skin felt like it had been showered with acid. First everything tingled pleasantly, then he felt hot all over, and finally a wave of excruciating pain overcame him. It was as if his body was punishing itself for its own pleasure. A perfect system of self-flagellation.

He turned to the side, curled up, being careful not to let his ankles touch each other, and pressed his eyelids tightly shut. But it was only when, after nearly an hour, he heard the louder breaths of the sleeping Edward that he was actually able to relax and surrender to sleep.

Tbc


	29. The Devil Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning holds a surprise for Oswald.

Chapter 29

**The Devil Within**

Before he had even opened his eyes, Edward was smiling. He smiled and then buried his smile in the warm pillow with a contented sigh. One hand slid across the expensive sheet and then stopped abruptly when it hit an obstacle. An obstacle in soft flannel pajamas whose peaceful breaths threatened to lull Edward back to sleep. His smile widened as he opened his eyes and, despite his blurred vision and the morning darkness, saw Oswald lying beside him. Unlike himself, he was still deeply asleep, his face turned toward the ceiling, his hands folded in front of his chest. His lips were slightly parted, and Edward struggled with himself because he was tempted to lean forward and kiss him.

But since there was too high a chance that Oswald might wake up and be angry that Edward had kissed him without his consent, he decided against it. Instead, he wanted to try something where he wouldn't disregard the line of intimacy as much. He wanted to take advantage of the possibility of accidental sleeping positions, pretending that he had unknowingly approached his friend on the mattress while sleeping. Slowly, so as not to wake Oswald after all, he crawled over to him, then moved a bit lower in the bed to rest his head gently on Oswald's shoulder. He stretched his left arm across Oswald's chest, enclosing his upper body with minimal strength. Almost automatically, this posture caused him to raise his left knee a little as well and bring it over Oswald's legs. He made an effort, however, to keep his lower body from brushing against Oswald's hip, making him lie there like a flamingo with cemented tail feathers.

His eyes closed again, and again he sighed with happiness. It was rare that he could be so close to Oswald, and he took the opportunity to run his fingertips gently over his side. It was perfect. Almost. For Edward, it would have been even more perfect if Oswald's shoulder wasn't all bone. As it was now, his temple rested on a spearhead. A spearhead camouflaged under a thin pillow. It had baited him with the promise of warmth and gentleness and was now slowly piercing its way through his skull. The second thing that disturbed absolute perfection was that his right arm was now trapped under his own torso, and he didn't know where to put it instead. He could have moved it under Oswald's back, of course, but of them, Oswald was the lighter sleeper and Edward didn't want to wake him on their first night together.

So he waited. And waited. And his arm fell asleep. But at the same time, Oswald's presence was so satisfying, and he loved the barely perceptible smell of his perfume, and underneath it, Oswald's very own scent – that warm tangy-sweet mixture. While his right hand had begun to tingle, his left had not stopped gently caressing the expensive fabric of Oswald's pajamas, careful never to stray too far, to confine himself to his waist, the contours of which Edward could only imagine because of the many times he had helped Oswald dress. This caution made him resemble a sculptor, who lovingly and adoringly worships a perfect marble sculpture. He absently moistened his lips, gazed from below into Oswald's peaceful face, eyed his neck, the pointed features of his chin and nose. He almost reached for his glasses to clear the blurred vision. He wanted to see the way Oswald's black lashes rested on his pale skin and even the way his narrow lips had become chapped due to the night's dryness.

The hand that had previously surrounded Oswald's waist made its way up and grabbed one of Oswald's hands, clasping it lightly. It would have been advantageous if he had simply gone back to sleep now, but Edward was wide awake and well-rested. This was not surprising, after all, sleep research showed that couples in a shared bed have a ten percent increase in REM sleep – even though sleeping together also leads to increased bodily activity, the notorious tossing and turning. In other words, the brain benefits from spending the night next to a loved one. The result Edward could now feel in his own body and hoped he would not have to miss it for the rest of his life.

Oswald's brows twitched, and he pressed the back of his head deep into the pillow. Already he remembered only the broad outline of his dream. It had been about Jerome capturing Edward, and Oswald setting out to rescue his boyfriend. As it was usual with dreams, at first everything had seemed completely coherent and realistic, but in retrospect, he should have known at several points that it could only be a dream. On the one hand, he had never learned how to steer a boat, and on the other hand, he was sure that his dream version had not limped and had generally been a bit too agile on his feet. In fact, when he reflected on it, a large part of his dream reminded him very strongly of the plot of 'Apocalypse Now' – especially the part where Gotham had suddenly turned into an impenetrable jungle. He decided to watch less TV from now on, and at the same time knew he wouldn't stick to it.

Even before he opened his eyes, he felt the pressure on his body, the embrace, and for a millisecond he had actually believed that he was the one who had been kidnapped. But then he heard breathing right at his ear, and as Edward shifted his posture in dozing, his hair tickled him. Although he could barely move, it was strangely beautiful to be held like that. There was something final about it. Trapped like prey to the constrictor snake. But instead of wriggling and freeing himself from its hold, Oswald surrendered to gentle death.

Even opening his eyes brought him no real understanding of the situation. The room was still plunged into darkness by the heavy curtains, night and day were equally hidden behind them, and Oswald saw the scene in front of him only dimly, as if he were in a poorly shot black-and-white movie. The only things he could make out were an arm slung across his chest, a leg brushing his knee, and a head directly to his left resting on his shoulder, but whether Edward was still asleep, or already awake, remained unknown to him.

Not for long, though, because as he strained his back to find a more comfortable lying position, Edward raised his head and Oswald heard him let out something that sounded like a staged yawn.

"You're awake," Edward stated with a smile as if he had been waiting for this moment for several hours. Questioningly, he added, "How did you sleep?"

"Quite well – I think."

Edward's smile widened, and he nodded twice in satisfaction.

"What time is it?"

"A little after four-thirty."

"Four..." Oswald groaned loudly, then dramatically dropped his head back into the pillow. In his eyes, that was an inhuman time of day.

Edward chuckled. "Mayoral signatures don't make themselves," he argued in a playfully admonishing tone.

"I hereby give you permission to forge my signature."

"Your chief of staff Tarquin wouldn't approve of that," Edward teased, whereupon Oswald rolled his eyes and with a sigh cursed Tarquin's existence.

Edward was more than pleased with this morning's outcome. Not only had he managed to get Oswald awake long before his usual waking hour, but he was able to carry on a normal conversation with him – even though Edward was still holding his friend in a tender embrace. Maybe it was this circumstance that suddenly made him bold, or maybe it was just Edward's way of always wanting way too much of everything, but he moved forward a bit, and in doing so, brought his hand up to Oswald's cheek and leaned in for a kiss.

There was a brief gasp from Oswald – he had apparently expected them both to just get up and dress for work – and Edward already felt remorse welling up in his stomach. But Oswald didn't back away, and instead timidly returned the kiss. For half a minute, the sound of their lips was the only thing that lit up the absolute silence of the early morning, and in the midst of the room, which was completely engulfed in darkness, Edward felt, just from the soft smacking of their meeting lips, as if they were engaged in something forbidden. The very thought was enough to quicken his pulse and turn the gentle press of his lips into an urging demand. His hand closed around Oswald's jaw as he slowly sat up further, shifting his weight to his left leg – the leg that had been wrapped across Oswald's body just a moment ago. Now on his knees, he sat above him, and Oswald had both hands pressed to Edward's collarbone in a defensive desire, half hovering, not knowing whether to push him away or pull him closer. But he kissed back. He kissed back, and Edward took that as encouragement to deepen the kiss, to spread his lips wider, to thrust his tongue playfully forward, tracing with its tip the invisible line that split Oswald's upper lip in half.

He paused as Oswald let out what sounded like a distorted display of lust and panic. A whimpered moan. Yawing self-loathing. As soon as Edward backed away a bit, Oswald's head fell forward, heavy breathing on his lips that had surely darkened to a beautiful red from kissing. Edward didn't need light to know that Oswald was hard. And he, too, was plagued by an uncomfortable erection. The longer he had knelt over Oswald, and the more he had heard the sound of their kissing lips, the hotter the blood between his legs had grown, the more palpable the throbbing, the more unbearable the shuddering. He longed to roll his hip forward, longed for the slightest sense of resistance against his pulsing shaft. And yet he did not lower his pelvis, remained on wobbly knees, hoping, praying, that Oswald would make the first move.

Edward knew that even the slightest touch, the shyest friction would be enough to make him orgasm. Too new was this situation between them, so much intimacy where there had never been any before. And suddenly he was back to being the virginal forensic scientist who had barely lasted two minutes and therefore had to be comforted by Kristen.

For a moment neither of them moved a muscle and heavy breathing was the only thing still holding them in intimacy. To Edward's euphoria, it was Oswald who moved first. Careful like a blind chick, he ran his right hand over Edward's chest with such tenderness that Edward let out a soft laugh.

"That tickles..."

Oswald bit his lower lip. "Sorry." But before he could put his hand down again, it was clasped by Edward's, who replied with a faint whisper, "No, it's all right," and directed his hand back to his body.

A gulp later, and a second hand was on Edward's chest, slowly moving over his body before Oswald clasped both sides of his back and slid down from there to his waist. He found it easier than expected, but that was probably due to the fact that Edward was wearing a pajama shirt. Probably the darkness also helped; if Oswald had noticed that Edward had an erection, it would have made him uncomfortable. His own was already making him uncomfortable, and instead of thrusting his hip forward, as one would normally do, he pressed it deeper into the mattress.

The bed creaked silently as Edward leaned in further and with a whispered "love you", pushed Oswald back into the pillow, very carefully lowering his pelvis, yet ultimately remaining a few inches floating above Oswald's hip. Again he joined their lips and immediately Oswald's hands left his body, pressing left and right on the mattress as if he hoped to lie over a trap door into which he could disappear if need be. His lips still joined with Edward's but in a rather awkward, disoriented way – like the pecking of a poisoned woodpecker. For Oswald, it was all too much, his head was getting dizzy, his chest tight, and yet it was also pleasurable, exciting. A conflict that couldn't be resolved. He was sure Edward would stop if he asked him to, but still, he remained silent, made no effort to push his friend away, and for a brief moment, Oswald actually convinced himself that this intimacy was okay after all. What he chose to ignore was that someone who was okay with the situation wouldn't be pressing into the mattress like a frightened rabbit.

As Edward's right hand got lost in Oswald's short hair, gently combing his fingers through the black strands, his left went lower, inch by inch. The fingertips traced Oswald's twitching larynx, rested in the small hollow above his collarbone, then stroked with more strength over his chest, his belly, but as soon as they passed his navel, traced over the waistband of Oswald's pajama pants, and Edward thought for a split second that he could feel the tip of Oswald's cock through his clothes, a lightning bolt passed through the man below, and he crawled out from under Edward with a loud "Stop!", almost hitting the back of his head against the wall.

Oswald's frantic breathing made Edward recoil, and all he managed was to croak out a broken, "I'm _so_ sorry..." before his voice failed him. He shouldn't have done that. He felt like choking himself. What had he been thinking!? Had he been thinking at all? Had he, Edward Nygma, let lust overtake him and shut down _his mind_ in the process? He was more than ashamed, he was disturbed. And there was no alter ego far and wide that he could blame for it this time. He was a terrible boyfriend.

"Oswald, I..." he tried to reach out for Oswald's shoulder, but his friend evaded him in the darkness, one hand stretched out defensively.

"I'm fine. I... I just got startled - that's all." He sounded breathless.

"I promised you I wouldn't try anything, and I broke that promise. That was... just so wrong. Trust me, I'm deeply ashamed to say this, but I wasn't... thinking. I'd understand if you don't feel like sharing your bed with me anymore." He sounded regretful, and his chest tightened the longer his friend remained silent. "Still, can we talk about what happened?"

Oswald shifted, slid off the bed with clumsy feet, and limped toward the bathroom. "Not now."

"Then when?" Edward needed this conversation. He had to make sure _his_ mistake didn't have negative consequences for Oswald's progress. He had to fix it – at any cost.

In the bathroom doorway, Oswald paused for a moment, whispering an uncertain, "I... I don't know. Maybe later" before disappearing into the glare of the bathroom light and closing the door behind him.

Later, then.

Simultaneous with the sound of a faucet, Edward dropped back onto the bed with a sigh, arms stretched from him. But soon guilt and mental exhaustion exchanged with anger, and he grabbed one of the pillows, which he then hurled roaring against the nearest wall. 

\---

Breakfast went off as if rehearsed, with Oswald talking as if they had never shared a bed together, and Edward doing nothing to change the lighthearted topics. He kept his answers short and to the point because, meanwhile, he had a whole other conversation going on inside his head that needed greater attention.

After dinner, they both went to the second floor to get ready for work separately. It was normal for Edward to be ready much earlier than Oswald – shaving, showering, styling his hair, dressing, all of that took much less time for him than it did for the more pompous Oswald. Of course, Edward also loved to cut a good figure now and then and to get into particularly glamorous outfits – a passion he had developed since his debut as a criminal – but for everyday life, a well-tailored suit was all he needed. And while he waited for his boyfriend to step out of his gigantic dressing room, perfectly coiffed and made up, he went to his own room and closed the door behind him.

His palms joined and raised to his lips, he now sat on the edge of his cold bed and stared thoughtfully into space. Out of his sight, on the desk, his alter ego appeared, one leg crossed over the other, casting him a disdainful glance.

"I've been studying Oswald's problem," Edward began, not turning toward his alter ego. "I've come to the conclusion that he must have something simply known as sexual aversion. The symptoms... anxiety, to the point of panic attacks during sexual confrontations, a strong sense of distress, avoidance of any sexual contact. A fairly similar sexual disorder that I had also considered is hyposexuality, but the difference is that a person with hyposexuality has neither sexual fantasies nor sexual sensation – or both are very mild. Furthermore, hyposexuality lacks the strong phobic symptoms of sexual aversion. So sexual aversion is the more likely diagnosis."

His alter ego had started playing with a pen, twirling it skillfully between his thumb and forefinger. "But you're not going to tell him about it, huh?"

"No."

"Instead, you're telling me – even though I already know. And by doing that, you want confirmation from me, a fragment of your mind, that what you're doing is right," his alter ego deduced accurately. Edward hissed, finally looking up at his imaginary second self, who wore a cocky smirk on his lips.

His alter ego hopped off the tabletop and put the pen aside. Then he pulled back the chair and sat down facing Edward. "So, go ahead. Tell me," he spoke with expansive gestures.

"The problem with sexual aversion is that it's usually caused by psychological trauma – the roots of which most often lie in childhood. That – of course – can mean anything, and I'm not gonna jump to conclusions--"

"You don't wanna tell him about it because you're afraid it has something to do with his mother," his alter ego summed up the point that Edward had so far only tiptoed around as if he were talking to a real person and not himself.

"He wouldn't believe me. In fact, I don't think he even realizes that there was anything that could have traumatized him. He's no less confused about his fear of sexuality than I was."

"So how are you going to help him if you don't even talk to him about it?"

"There lies an even bigger problem. I suppose one of the quickest methods would be confrontation – as one does with, say, arachnophobia. But if even the slightest thing goes wrong, it could worsen his condition."

"And therefore yours."

Edward shook his head weakly. "I'm fine."

His alter ego seemed unconvinced, had raised a brow in disbelief. In speaking, he bent down to Edward as if he were talking to a child. "You're having this little conversation with me instead of your boyfriend," he said.

"Talking to you helps me gather my thoughts," Edward argued defensively.

"Then maybe you'd better get a cat. Would make you appear less insane if someone were to enter the room." He winked mockingly and Edward gave him an annoyed glare. "By the way..." His alter ego rose, both hands gesticulating in front of his chest, "I love that you let me be the 'bad cop' of our little conversations. That way I can say things like: If you really have his best interests at heart, you tell him what you think is the source of his fear. What's the worst that can happen? You think he wouldn't want to compromise his memory of mommy, so he'd rather decide to become a eunuch? Haven't we experienced firsthand that insight is the first step to recovery?"

Edward clenched his jaw. He hated that his alter ego was right. It would be selfish to keep his thoughts hidden from Oswald.

"I'll talk to him."

"When?"

"Tonight." If Oswald still wanted to have anything to do with him after that, he would begin to introduce him to sexual topics and acts bit by bit, as slowly and carefully as possible. It would take a long time, no doubt, but the method offered a much greater chance of success than direct confrontation.

\---

Oswald loved the way Tarquin's face froze every time he brought Edward to City Hall with him. This time, his milk-faced chief of staff had even dropped his fountain pen as he walked with Edward past the latter's open office door. The pen's ink cartridge had emptied itself in a panic on the freshly drawn-up document. It was a miracle that Tarquin didn't knock over the coffee cup as well, as he then frantically jumped up from his chair and hurried after the mayor.

"Mr. Mayor – sir."

Arriving in Oswald's office, Edward helped his boyfriend out of his coat, and Tarquin's brows drew together in discomfort because he felt like an intruder when he saw the looks both men exchanged – humble love on Edward's part, a small smile on the peach-colored lips, and radiant delight on Oswald's, deep dimples on the shame-red cheeks. Edward hung the coat once carefully folded over his arm, then accepted Oswald's cane as well, taking both to the dressing room down the hall.

Tarquin immediately seized the moment and hurried the few steps forward to the desk where Oswald was just settling down with a weary sigh. "Mr. Mayor, I don't mean to offend you in any way, but I think--"

"Has Mr. Valeska contacted you?", Oswald interrupted him.

Tarquin jerked back, jolted out of his thoughts, and floundered twice before replying, "Yes, Mr. Valeska has a meeting appointment with you at eleven."

"Very well."

"Um... Mr. Mayor, what I actually wanted to say: Of course, as our mayor, you are free to bring _visitors_ to City Hall as you see fit, but...", Tarquin pulled a face, "a notorious criminal..."

Oswald just smiled, smiled as if he had simply turned down Tarquin's voice in his head, and was now merely waiting for his lips to stop moving. "Was that all?"

Tarquin didn't even know what to say, just gasped for words like a beached catfish.

Just as the chief of staff was looking confusedly back toward the open door, Edward came around the corner, several folders in his arms. "I'd recommend you take another look at the budget. Whoever did these calculations deserves to be terminated. Last year's deficit is 1.3%, not 1.8%. Even a child could calculate that." He shook his head dismissively. "So Gotham's still-ongoing stagnation in crime has resulted in significant savings." He switched folders, pulled out a second one, and opened it. "And this draft resolution for structuring the newly created settlement area in Granton contains an outrageous amount of spelling mistakes." Edward adjusted his glasses in an act of supremacy and eagerness. "Would you like me to revise both?"

Oswald smiled with satisfaction. "I would very much appreciate that."

"Then I'll get right to work. Your office is free, Tarquin?" Edward didn't even wait for a reply from the chief of staff, immediately turning on his heels and disappearing in the direction of his office.

"Um..." Tarquin felt completely taken out of the conversation.

"Tarquin, I have a few more tasks for you."

"Um... yes, Mr. Mayor?"

Oswald opened a drawer at his desk, pulled out two large envelopes and a package the size of a novel. He then pressed all three items into Tarquin's arms. "Would you please deliver these things in person to their addressees?"

"Um... but can't that--" They had numerous assistants and secretaries who could do such jobs.

"I need someone I can trust for that," Oswald replied with an intense stare, then added after a brief pause, "That'll be all, Tarquin."

Helplessness written all over his face, Tarquin turned and left the mayor's office, holding the mail in his arms. No doubt there was a way for him to do something about the poor treatment he was receiving from his boss, but who knew how that would turn out. In the end, all doors for another profession in the political world could be closed to him, and besides, Tarquin had not been raised to talk back too much, but instead to fight his way through diligently and obediently.

\---

At ten-fifty, Oswald was informed that Jeremiah Valeska had arrived at City Hall. He and Edward met him in the mayor's office. Over the past two years, Jeremiah Valeska had probably changed the most. Although his brother was still at large, he had not been living underground for the past year, but instead, following an idea of Jim Gordon's, had taken refuge in Wayne Manor. Bruce, for whom the whole estate was much too big anyway, living alone with his butler, had welcomed him there in friendship, and since then Jeremiah had also participated in Wayne Enterprise projects many times. Apart from that, he had also acquired a strange new aura, like a dragée that had been covered with shiny shellac.

"Mr. Valeska," Oswald greeted him, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

His swagger reminded Oswald of Edward, but without the amused sway and instead with more somber vanity. He smiled as he settled into the chair, a map scroll under his arm.

"I hear good things about our power project."

"The improvements were completed yesterday."

He opened the map, spreading it out on the desk. "With the improvements, those four marked generators can be taken off the grid again. I'll have a team collect them, and take them to a storage facility at Wayne Enterprise."

"Fabulous, and the other--" Oswald paused in his speech as a cell phone began to ring.

Jeremiah, with an apology, pulled his cell phone from inside his immaculate white suit under which he wore a purple shirt. Flipping it open, he rose simultaneously and with an "Excuse me for a second," strode toward the door. But before he had opened it and disappeared into the hallway to answer the phone, he reported to the caller with a friendly hum. "Bruce. I'm at City Hall. -- Don't. I'm always pleased to hear your voice. I'll be home as soon as I'm done here."

Apparently, Jeremiah hadn't felt the need to leave the office, had stopped in the doorway, and was now flipping his cell phone shut again. "Sorry for the interruption. Where were we?"

\---

The day passed productively. Together, Oswald and Edward took care of all the bureaucratic work that the mayor's office entailed, while Tarquin was fed all kinds of tasks by Oswald. Their diligence ensured that they were able to leave City Hall in the early afternoon. Right now they were in the limousine that would take them back to Cobblepot Manor. The mood was cheerful since they had been amusing themselves about Tarquin for an hour.

But Edward finally had to make them talk about what had happened this morning. He could not allow Oswald to hush the subject again.

"Until I am measured I am not known, yet how you miss me when I have flown – _what am I_?"

Oswald raised a brow. "Your club doesn't seem to challenge you enough when you're asking me riddles, too."

Edward just grinned the rebuke away. "Do you give up?"

"Tsk. Not yet." He chewed on his lower lip and directed his gaze out the blackened window. Eventually, though, something clicked. He snapped his fingers excitedly. "Time!" He could hardly believe how tense he was as he waited for Edward's features to change, and how warm he felt as Edward's lips very slowly curled into a wide smile.

" _Correct_. I was wondering if I could borrow your time tonight and take you out to dinner."

Red cheeks and a sweet smile already told Edward that the answer would be positive. Good thing Oswald didn't know Edward was going to use this opportunity for a rather unpleasant conversation.

Tbc


	30. Darling, your head’s not right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Edward takes the courage to discuss Oswald's sexual problem with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, uh, hi!  
> I can explain! I had exam phase (still do, to be honest). But the phase before the exam phase I'm always busy actively procrastinating, so I just couldn't make any progress. I needed a week alone to proofread the chapter .__.  
> But here it is now! And if I'm honest, the actual title should be "I've never done so much psychological analysis on the main characters in one chapter as I did in this one".... But I tried not to do ONLY that :D And if it's all in one chapter, we'll get through it faster too!
> 
> About the chapter: I mention two songs relatively early on, and not the original versions of either. And in case someone wonders if these versions really exist, I'll give the links for both of them here:
> 
> 1st song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mwuq8GI8LME  
> 2nd song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rve03u7oEvI

Chapter 30

**Darling, your head’s not right**

Originally, Edward had planned to take Oswald to a fine restaurant this evening, demanding a private table, and after a few romantic hours carefully steering the conversation towards sex and trauma, but because of suspicious activity at one of Oswald's dockside warehouses, the crime lord held a meeting today with his henchmen, underbosses, informants, and associates. And because this meeting was to be held late in the evening in a hall within the premises below the Iceberg Lounge, Oswald had suggested that instead of the planned date, he would keep the club closed today, have dinner prepared by his chefs and served in the lounge.

The meeting revealed that it must have been the GCPD that had been snooping around the warehouse. While no one knew the reason for this, a call to the Commissioner first thing in the morning would certainly give Oswald the desired information. Furthermore, Oswald ordered the warehouse to be cleared and the valuable goods to be relocated, and gave instructions for potential police raids in the near future. The whole thing lasted almost two hours, and the last thirty minutes were a near-death experience for Edward. With his stomach growling painfully and his face pale, he desperately awaited the end of the meeting. He had been so busy preparing for tonight's date, eager to make everything perfect, that he hadn't eaten since early this morning. So now that the date was approaching, and excitement stirred in his body, he became hectic and inattentive. 

Later, he and Oswald took the elevator to the Iceberg Lounge. The otherwise cool club lights had been softened to a warm orange, and in the middle of the room stood a single table with a white tablecloth and an illuminated candlestick – very old-school, just the way Oswald liked it. Upon their entrance, the band had begun to play, and to an ensemble of piano, guitar, drums, bass and sax, a woman with a voice like rich golden honey in a black cocktail dress sang a version of The Strokes' 'Someday' like one might have played in Casablanca. And even though it was more of a breakup song, it was so atmospheric that Oswald pressed his chin to his chest with an enchanted smile. When he reflected on their journey to this point, and on the many times they had tried to convince themselves that they would be better off alone, the song did somehow suit them.

He let Edward pull back his chair, and as soon as both men were seated at the table, several waiters came out of a door in Oswald's back to serve their meal. Pecan Crusted Salmon was accompanied by a glass of Chardonnay and the obligatory bread basket.

Edward took his glass, and gave Oswald an almost conspiratorial look. _"I can't be bought..."_

At first Oswald seemed perplexed, but then he gave a quiet laugh and reached for his glass as well. _"But I can be stolen with a glance..."_

_"I'm worthless to one..."_

_"But priceless to two."_

They both took a quick sip from their glass, but the romance was interrupted when the kitchen door opened with a bang and Victor, ass first, emerged from it. His upper body was still halfway in the kitchen, and he said goodbye to someone with indistinct words before casually sauntering over to Oswald and Edward. He stopped next to Oswald, however, and watched his boss with puzzled curiosity, who had spilled white wine on himself because of the sudden loud entry and was now drying his face with a napkin.

With a growl, Oswald threw the napkin back on the table. "Victor? Name one good reason not to shoot you right now!"

Victor answered almost immediately. And in doing so, he leaned forward with a smirk, swiped a slice of bread from the basket without asking, and then juggled it in one hand. "Cause I'm the best bodyguard you've got, _boss_." He gave a cheeky grin. "Besides, you ordered me to protect the club tonight." He took a provocative bite of the bread. "Just doing my job."

Groaning, Oswald buried his forehead in one palm. He had actually completely forgotten that he had given that instruction. "Fine. But I don't think we'll be needing your protection tonight."

"Really?" Victor devoured the rest of the stolen bread in a single bite. "So you're giving me the day off?"

Oswald waved his hands impatiently. "Yes. You can go now, Victor."

"Have a fun date." It sounded more teasing than friendly coming from Victor's mouth. And before he turned around, and left the club in the direction of the elevator, he swiped two more 'bread slices to go', which made Oswald almost explode with anger, and brought a hand to his forehead in a farewell gesture.

Groaning, Oswald leaned back in his seat. "Sorry that _cretin_ ruined the mood."

"Then I guess we'll just have to create a new one," Edward replied with a sensual yet somber smile.

Sighing with relief, but also amused because of Edward's nonchalance, Oswald let his head fall forward, chuckled briefly before picking up his silverware.

They ate their main course for half an hour without much talking. Nevertheless, the mood was good. They enjoyed each other's presence and the live music in the background, not needing any conversation to cast furtive glances at each other over the rim of their wine glasses. It wasn't until they were each served a slice of key lime pie for dessert that Edward began to take more and more control of the conversation. This was fine with Oswald; he was already on his third glass of wine, therefore in high spirits, and afraid of straying into nonsense topics.

With a smile that stretched across his entire face, Edward placed both elbows on the table and rested his chin on his horizontally folded palms. "I've been thinking. Basically, we just skipped our dating phase where other couples really get to know each other. In fact, did you know that most couples go on an average of 6 to 8 dates before they even enter a relationship?"

Oswald gave a half nod. "You may be right about that, Ed, but I still believe there's no one who knows me better than you do."

"And yet there's a lot I don't know either – and maybe there are things you'd like to know about me as well."

Oswald pondered in silence.

"Wanna give it a try?"

Oswald's brows drew together. "Small talk?"

"Bingo."

"Um-- You know what: Why not." That was probably the moment, then, when any silence would be awkward. And it was indeed. Edward was probably counting on Oswald to start, while Oswald was hoping Edward had already thought of something. In Edward's back, the singer, whose vocal cords were already exhausted, switched, and the guitarist and sax player also left the stage, swapping places with two brass players and a clarinetist. The time the band needed to regroup underlined the absolute silence of the conversation, the halt in a so far wonderful evening.

But when the band played the first notes to a stylish, old-fashioned version of 'Gangsters Paradise', thus suddenly plunging the whole club into the atmosphere of a mafia film shot in black and white, Edward took this as an opportunity to formulate a question to which he thought he already knew the answer. He wanted to open with something in which they were alike – partly so that Oswald would feel a little more secure and perhaps would open up more for the next questions.

"Would you rather be poor and influential, or rich and insignificant?"

This wasn't quite the kind of question Oswald had been expecting, and he batted his lids several times before, with his eyes turned towards the band, he began to ponder. At the words 'rich and insignificant' he had inevitably thought of his father; all that wealth and yet he had preferred to shut himself off from the outside world. And although Oswald had liked his father, he knew he could never have led such a life. He needed the influence, he was born to be influential, a world changer, a great man, someone special; that's what his beloved mother had told him over and over again. Never again could he be weak and insignificant; he had long cast aside the cloak of that nobody he had been in his childhood and adolescence.

"Poor and influential."

"Fully agree. What to do with all that money when you're just invisible to everyone."

Edward, too, had a gray past behind him, living as a shadow among the colored lights of others, always trying to please everyone, but never valued by them. Gordon, Bullock, Alvarez, none of the cops in the GCPD had even greeted him back when he came to work in the morning, none had let him join in conversations. They had always just stood laughing in their little groups, their backs like spiked armor, keeping him at a distance.

Edward and Oswald were similar in their desire to be seen, but while Oswald was someone who wanted to be elevated to a pedestal, Edward was someone who, in exchange for recognition, was willing to roll out the carpet before it. Although Edward had fought his way up and gained a semblance of independence and power in his criminal career, he himself did not realize that he had not yet completely freed himself from the former Edward, the obedient failure who wanted to please everyone, he now merely focused his people-pleasing solely on Oswald. If he had not recently opened a club, his daily routine would probably still consist exclusively of consolidating Oswald's reign. Even with the club, he thought little of himself during the day, focusing his energies on Oswald, his problems and well-being. And even though this was probably not healthy, these were the strategies and behaviors he had acquired in his childhood. At that time it had been his parents who he had wanted to please, especially his father, and later his colleagues from the GCPD, now Oswald held that place. And ever since his childhood, he had also continually balanced between people-pleasing and an inner sense of superiority over everyone else. And because Oswald enjoyed both – the people-pleasing stroked his inner narcissist, and because Edward's superiority was based on intellectual truth, he was a useful ally – Edward had devoted himself fully to him. His whole life for the feeling of truly being seen and needed by someone, in Edward's eyes a fair trade.

Oswald, meanwhile, had only solidified his narcissistic tendencies through the experience of real power. Although there were moments when he was able to break out of his behavior patterns for Edward's benefit – for example, when he had made him king of the Narrows back then (although the fact that Oswald had not been allowed to publicly participate in the takeover of the Narrows had probably also played a major role in this), or when he did not interfere with Edward's plans to open his own club – he still maintained the childish 'self-focus' especially in tense situations. But there was a learning process, a maturing process, and even though all the books and articles on the subject claimed it wasn't worth the energy to be with a narcissist, Edward could only roll his eyes at that. Oswald had many problems – but so did Edward.

Oswald took another sip from his wine glass. "Okay, I've got one: If you weren't part of Gotham's criminal underworld, what job would you be doing? And don't say forensics." He pronounced it like a swear word, from above with a little smirk at the corners of his mouth.

Edward leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and brought his palms together in front of his lips. "Hmm, I admit that while working for the GCPD I often felt that I could've easily done the detectives' jobs myself. In fact, Gordon and Bullock solved most of their cases only thanks to _my_ work. The only thing I'd lack to replace both of them _immediately_ is target accuracy."

Oswald cocked his head slightly to the side. "So maybe more of a private investigator than a police detective?"

"Possibly. Not that I would give it much thought." Edward grinned. "What about you? Devote yourself entirely to politics? Where I'm a genius for facts and coherencies, you're excellent at dealing with people, finding and exploiting their weaknesses and strengths."

While poking his lemon pie with his fork, Oswald pursed his lips as if he approved of this idea. He kept to himself, however, that he doubted he would voluntarily devote himself exclusively to politics. If Oswald's successes were cakes, then being mayor was the artfully decorated strawberry cake given to one's mother for Mother's Day, hearts, love and sweetened cream, whereas being a mob boss was the sloppily thrown together yet in its lavish abundance of diabetes-promoting ingredients, heavenly tasting chocolate cake.

They finished their dessert while asking more questions, and after the first one, a second bottle of wine was opened. The live music adapted to the late evening, changing to sensual jazz, and the candle between them was dripping with wax and had already dropped halfway down to its knees, the distance between them becoming more bridgeable with each flicker.

But the late hour and all the alcohol also allowed Oswald's nonsense to surface.

He almost choked because he started laughing while still drinking, then put the glass back on the table, chuckling. He raised a hand as if to appease his boyfriend, before asking: " _Suppose_ you were reborn as an animal. Which one would you be?" He would take to the grave what he had previously imagined Edward to be.

Edward raised both brows. It had never occurred to him to imagine himself as another species. But it got him thinking. "I assume 'human' does not count."

"That's correct."

Edward knew full well that he could save himself the argument, so he just continued on Oswald's terms. "When I consider poaching and habitat destruction, I suppose monkeys wouldn't be a good choice. Maybe a bird, there are many species with exceptionally high intelligence."

"Such as?" Imagining Edward as a bird amused him.

"Crows would be an example – but their grim appearance doesn't appeal much to me."

"Parrots?"

While Oswald smirked, Edward remained quite serious. "I suppose a cockatoo would be the most likely choice. I once read of an experiment with Goffin's cockatoos in which the animals rejected offered food to trade it later for a bigger treat. There was also evidence of skillful tool usage."

Edward raised his right index finger. " _Fun fact:_ Cockatoos are considered one of the most clingy parrot species. When kept as pets, they demand a lot of attention and not seldom develop depression and destructive behavior when they don't get enough."

Oswald laughed. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

But all he received back was a broad grin from Edward, whose eyes twinkled slyly.

Oswald couldn't help but be pleased that Edward had also decided on a bird – even though for Oswald it had been no decision of his own to have the penguin as his animal persona, it didn't matter by now, he wore the name with pride and had made his peace with the waddling animal. Oswald did wonder a little, though, if Edward had chosen a bird on purpose because he knew Oswald would appreciate it.

"There's another thing I'd like to know," Edward said after clearing his mind of all the cockatoo facts that had suddenly risen from the library of his mind. "What part of your body do you like the most?" He deliberately steered the topic to physicality, in hopes of moving on to sexuality from there.

"My nose," Oswald replied, to Edward's astonishment and without much hesitation. "The look on your face says it's not what you expected. Granted, I've often been the subject of mockery because of its shape – and still am – but it's still one of my trademarks, and I've learned to love it as such. What part of your body do _you_ like the most?"

"If my brain counts, then that's my answer."

He playfully tilted his head to the side. "I'll let it count. And..." Oswald bit his lower lip, eyes fixed on the candle flame between them, "if we turn it around? What would you choose on me?"

It was an unspoken request for a compliment, a request Edward was happy to oblige. "If I had to choose: your eyelashes and cheeks."

"Despite the freckles?"

"I like the freckles. And the fact, that because of your fair skin, it's easy to see when you're ashamed." The sentence had the desired effect, and Oswald's cheeks heated up while a shaky smile painted dimples in his pointed features.

"For me, it's your mouth – and your hands."

"What do you like about them?" As if for inspection, Edward slid his hands across the tabletop; they did not lie perfectly flat, and so the knuckles rose from them like an even mountain range, the fingers themselves were long and delicate, the veins traced very softly under the back of his hand, the nails were neither too short nor too long.

"I don't know..." Oswald also slowly brought his hands forward. While Edward's fingers were longer than his palm, his were the same length, the fingers scrawnier, the knuckles and joints more visible, which gave them a weak appearance, the nails were short, too short, as if he had an uncontrollable fear of dirt getting caught under them, the fear of looking like a peasant and not a king. He placed his fingers carefully over Edward's, stifling a sigh at how warm and comfortable his friend's hands were. "I just like them. And..." He looked up into Edward's face, eyed his mouth, which was open a crack, lips like ripe peaches. Oswald swallowed. Lips had a much more sexual character than hands. He wanted to tell Edward how sensual his mouth was, how soft his lips looked, how attractive their color was, but he couldn't stand the pressure and felt the need to evade. "You have a captivating smile."

Edward intertwined their hands and then pulled Oswald a little closer, but the table prohibited their contact and the candle still didn't allow them to lean over. Why hadn't they chosen to sit in a booth instead? What was stopping them from doing it now? They had finished dining and there was no one there who occupied the seats. The music would sound better from one of the booths anyway.

But while he was still thinking about how he was going to ask Oswald if they could take a seat together in a quiet corner, they heard faintly from the entryway the ding of the elevator and the sound of its doors opening. And as Edward was still turning toward the door, Jim Gordon came stomping into the clubroom, dogged determination in his eyes.

Both men, whose date had been so rudely interrupted by the policeman, sighed and withdrew their hands from the table at the same time, while Jim continued to walk toward them, stopping with a firm stance three feet from Oswald. The romantic mood into which he had so gruffly burst had no impact on a James Gordon. "We have to talk."

With a wave of his arm, Oswald silenced the band. "And this can't wait till tomorrow?" he then asked, hissing.

"No," Jim grunted – and Oswald already knew, because of the brief pause in which Jim just looked at him, that this was a lie, and the detective simply enjoyed pestering Oswald. Jim pulled something out of the outside pocket of his jacket, a photograph, which he then placed next to Oswald's empty dessert plate. "Did that happen on your orders?"

Oswald gave Jim one more irritated glance before lowering his eyes to the photo, and Edward, too, leaned forward a bit in his chair to see what was so urgent that Gordon had come all the way from the precinct to the Narrows for it.

The photograph showed the frozen corpse of a policeman, one hand on his pistol holster, the other slightly extended; the work of Victor Fries. Jim was careful not to give Oswald any information about the dead man until the mobster had told him what he knew, and Oswald did not let on that the alcohol in his bloodstream was making him impatient and inattentive.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Detective," he spoke with false politeness, while Edward had taken the photograph and was looking at it more closely.

Jim began a whole speech about how Freeze was working for Oswald after all, and that the police would figure out what he was up to, and that they wouldn't shy away from holding Oswald accountable for his actions – the usual stuff. The GCPD, of course, had no way of knowing that Oswald hadn't seen Freeze and Firefly since the incident 2 years ago. 

Oswald's attention sank faster than the candle in front of him, and instead of focusing on Jim's words, he soon found himself studying his face. He noted with strange fascination that Jim's nose looked from this angle like a whale emerging from the water. Perhaps he was already drunker than he felt.

Finally, Jim had stopped talking, and Oswald's only reaction to his words was a derisive: " _C'est la vie_ ", and a shrug of his shoulders.

Gordon growled. "This isn't over yet." He took the photograph and turned to leave.

"Goodbye, Jim," Oswald exclaimed smugly, then emptied his wine glass crudely in one gulp.

After the elevator had closed and Jim was no longer able to hear them, Edward leaned forward in his chair with a faint smile. "Guess that explains the police snooping around the docks," he said.

"They won't find him before we do."

"We may have to make sure of that."

Oswald asked the waiter who was clearing their dessert plates for a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, while Edward pondered how he could prevent the police from finding Victor Fries before they did. The best way was probably to lay a false trail first thing in the morning.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the waiter returned and brought Oswald's whiskey.

"Can I offer you a glass?" he asked Edward, who replied in the negative with an outstretched palm.

"I think I've had enough." The whole thing with Jim, as well as all the casual conversation before it, had almost made him lose sight of what he had actually intended to do. "Oswald, what do you say we leave the table and take a seat in one of the booths?"

Oswald agreed, and since he was a little bumpy on his feet because of all the sitting (at least Edward believed or rather hoped this was the reason), Edward took the whiskey and Oswald's glass with him to the booth, whereas Oswald followed carefully, leaning on his cane, and then sank down on the padded bench with a satisfied smile.

With a lifting motion of his arm, Edward indicated that the band should continue their playing. Quiet soul warmed the room in a melodic voice.

"There's something else I wanted to talk to you about," Edward began, letting his hand move slowly across the table, looking for Oswald's fingers, which, however, had just wrapped around his whiskey glass, which he brought to his lips in one go, and immediately refilled. By now, Edward should have been wondering why Oswald was gulping down the alcohol like that and how much he had already drunk today, but his mind was too focused on finally having that conversation with him, that he didn't analyze his friend's behavior much further. 

"This morning," Oswald uttered in a raspy voice, and Edward just raised his eyebrows at first, surprised that Oswald named the subject himself. So he had thought about it, had guessed why Edward had suggested this date.

"Yes."

Oswald took a deep breath. "I'm not angry with you – you did what felt natural to you. I'm sorry I reacted the way I did."

"You don't have to be sorry. I crossed a line."

"After two years of being in a relationship, you'd think I'd have torn down the line myself by now." He laughed, laughed snidely at himself. "At an age of thirty-five, you might think that line doesn't even exist."

"But it does exist. For good reason."

Oswald seemed to think otherwise, for he only raised his nostrils briefly and drowned his gaze in his whiskey glass. Then he shook his head, lost in thought. "There's only one person I am angry with, and that's myself." In his eyes, tears welled up.

"You just need more time – and confidence in yourself."

Oswald let out a quiet laugh. "I've never had that." When he turned his gaze to Edward, there was a pleading twinkle in it. "Unlike you."

"Of course I have confidence in you – I love you. I see you as the great man you truly are."

"I'm sorry for being such a disappointment to you, but I don't know what to do about it. I've never felt so powerless before." Oswald buried his face in one hand.

"You're not a disappointment."

Oswald gave him a broken smile, barely lifting his hand from his face. "You don't have to lie."

"That wasn't a lie," Edward insisted calmly. Again, he should have realized it. Oswald was prone to self-pity, but this strong mixture with self-loathing and his openness with this feeling were a little too much even for him. Oswald was usually better at hiding when he was emotionally blackmailing someone. This time it didn't even make sense, Edward had already agreed to help him after all. Unless he wanted to persuade Edward to wait even longer, or maybe even to abandon his efforts altogether.

"If it's what you want, there are ways to help you – but I'm afraid it's going to take some time."

Oswald pondered for a moment, then finished his third glass of whiskey. "There are easier ways..."

Interested but also incredulous, Edward lowered his eyelids. "And those would be?"

Oswald gulped, tapped his fingers against his empty whiskey glass several times before carefully raising his right hand, turning his body in Edward's direction, and resting it on his shoulder. The second moved haltingly to Edward's cheek, fingertips grazing the soft spot behind his ear. Edward was too surprised, batting his eyelids in overwhelm as Oswald leaned forward and their lips met. He was even more surprised when he felt Oswald shift his weight, almost pressing himself against Edward, and at the same time opening his lips. Edward tasted the alcohol, whiskey and wine. He let himself be fooled at first, sighing into the kiss with desire and clasping Oswald's shoulders with both hands. But Oswald trembled, his eyes hazy, barely able to stay closed, and when he placed a hand awkwardly in Edward's crotch, it was Edward who ended the intimacy. All the things he had been only marginally aware of before, but had not bothered to combine, now interlocked like the wheels of clockwork.

"You're completely drunk."

Oswald didn't deny it. "It's the only thing that helps."

"Was that your plan from the beginning? Get drunk to sleep with me?" They weren't even alone in the club. Only now did he consider how much Oswald had actually drunk. He looked at the whiskey bottle, which was almost half empty. Earlier they had emptied two bottles of wine, of which Edward had drunk only two glasses – Oswald the whole rest. How had this escaped him until now? It was a miracle that Oswald could still speak normally and move somewhat inconspicuously. It was astonishing – and frightening – how high Oswald's tolerance for alcohol was.

Because his friend didn't reply, Edward continued. "What did you mean by 'it's the only thing that helps'? Have you tried that before?"

Oswald nodded. "That's how I could-- myself..." He didn't say it, but it was enough for Edward to understand him.

"You deliberately intoxicate yourself with alcohol to numb your mind..." Edward couldn't believe it. "This has to stop."

"It's working," Oswald insisted, his eyelids squeezed shut; the light from the stage stung his pupils quite uncomfortably.

"It's unhealthy," Edward protested. "And not effective. You've gotta learn to discard fear instead of taking a roundabout route that may not work someday."

Oswald knew that, but real therapy would take a long time, and intoxication from alcohol came quickly. Why did he have no patience with this, of all things, when with business he never went for the quick wins, instead preferring the long and rewarding approach? Fear was a terrifying enemy.

"We're going home," Edward spoke with the fierceness of a concerned spouse. "Wait here."

He rose, took the whiskey to the kitchen, and sent the staff home. Then he retrieved Oswald's coat from the cloakroom and put on his own. Oswald needed some assistance, but soon Edward had his boyfriend loaded into the limousine. The ride home was overshadowed by silence.

\---

At home, the first thing he did was to provide his boyfriend with water before he disappeared into the kitchen for twenty minutes. Oswald raised both brows questioningly when Edward returned and placed a bowl of rice in front of him.

"Rice?"

"Carbs have the power to absorb alcohol."

He could have just put Oswald to bed, but for Edward, their conversation wasn't over. And so he waited, legs crossed and arms folded in front of his chest, while Oswald lazily spooned the rice down. It was more than visible that he was angry, his expression stern and condemning. He couldn't believe that Oswald had risked his health so recklessly and apparently had also been under the firm impression that Edward would approve of it as long as they could have had sex. He felt deeply offended by Oswald's behavior.

"How are you feeling?"

"Dizzy."

He refilled his water glass. "Drink more."

Only after Oswald had drank two more glasses, Edward showed himself satisfied, and while Oswald briefly disappeared into the bathroom, Edward built a comfortable nest on the living room sofa, into which Oswald could then simply lie down while Edward took off his shoes. Edward himself sat down on a cushioned stool diagonally from him, leaning slightly forward with his hands clasped on his knees.

"What I wanted to tell you earlier is that I think I know exactly what your problem is. There's a good chance you have a sexual aversion--"

"How do you fix it?" asked Oswald immediately, one hand on his heavy forehead.

"In a perfect world: behavior therapy. You work out where the undesirable behaviors come from, what triggers them, and then you work with positive stimuli to establish new behaviors."

Oswald gave only a soft grunt. The thought of therapy made him shudder.

"Can I ask you a few things?"

Oswald hummed in agreement.

In deliberation, Edward ran his tongue over his lower lip, eventually straightening up on the stool and forming cautious gestures. "Did you live with your mother until she died?"

Oswald's brows drew together, visibly puzzled by the question. "Yes. _Why?_ " He already guessed what Edward was getting at – something Edward had wanted to avoid.

"Sheer curiosity. How big was your apartment?"

Shaking his head, Oswald straightened up on the sofa. "Small. _What is your point?_ "

Edward adjusted his glasses. "I was just thinking that it must have been hard to live in such a small space with a family member. Little privacy; especially during puberty, I picture it difficult."

Oswald's head shake had turned into a somber rhythm, his mouth open in disbelief. "She has nothing to do with it."

"I don't want to accuse her of something, but--"

"Then don't." Oswald's voice had become harsher. By now there was no sign left of the self-pitying man from the club.

"But it's a fact that family affects us in many ways – sometimes even more than we realize."

That had been the final straw. Oswald rose from the sofa. "I'm not having this conversation any longer." He limped wobbly toward the stairs, but Edward followed him.

"If you're really sure that your childhood has nothing to do with this, then it shouldn't be a problem for you to tell me about it."

Sticking his nose in the air like a weapon, Oswald turned on his heels, even taking another threatening step toward Edward. "Why don't you tell me about your childhood first, huh? For as long as I've known you, you haven't said a word about your family."

Edward remained silent. He could not argue against the truth. And so Oswald turned away from him again and disappeared to the second floor, where he loudly slammed the door to his bedroom. That probably meant that Edward would not be allowed to sleep in his room tonight.

\---

When Oswald came down the next morning, Edward had already provided Martin with schoolwork for the day and had given first instructions for creating a false trail for the police. It was fortunate for Edward, because with Martin now retreating to the study, they had the privacy he needed.

Oswald looked terrible, politely speaking; as if he had aged twenty years over the night's hours. Olga immediately brought him a glass of dissolved aspirin and a plate of breakfast, so Edward only had to wait until the maid had left the dining room before he began to speak in a calm, collected voice.

"When I was four, my father told me for the first time that I was a disappointment. I don't remember what triggered it – probably some tomfoolery. Around the time I started school, I made a plan to convince him otherwise. But no matter what I did, good grades, prizes: when I showed him at home, he just laughed, shook his head and either said that I couldn't keep up this performance anyway, was still too young for it to be anything special, or accused me of cheating. Since I went to school, my mother was home less and less, often meeting with friends. I didn't mind, because that was also the time when she gave me various exercise and riddle books to keep me busy, and promised me sweets if I had finished a certain number of pages by the time she returned. Often, however, it was my father who came home before her. My father didn't care for riddles; he thought it was childish and annoying, wanted me to occupy myself with proper things: baseball, rugby – the hobbies of his childhood. Then, when I was fourteen, my father beat me up for the first time – he had hit me before, but not to the point of bleeding. He told my mother that I had become defiant and that he had to put me in my place; she did not object. She, too, preferred it when I was quiet and did not disturb her. In such an environment, one quickly learns to keep one's head down and make oneself invisible. And yet... I continued to hold on to this absurd fantasy that my father would be proud of me if only I had the best grade in an assignment, or the best GPA in the class, or in the whole school, if only I won this or that science prize, if only I could prove to him that I wasn't a failure. The other kids picked on me – the nerd, the weirdo. I had a hard time talking to them because we were just so different. From my first major prize money, I secretly bought a game console – together with my books, it took the place of a friend long into adulthood. When I think of my father today, all I see is a miserable loser who only made it to a third-rate office job himself and had to keep others down to make himself feel better. I don't talk about my family because I'm done with them. After graduation, I moved to Gotham and took a job with the police department. I've never heard from my parents since."

Oswald's eyes were filled with pity, his posture stiffened. He was not sure how to react to Edward's words. His boyfriend made it even more difficult by not allowing any emotion to flash through his stony expression. And Edward was also the one who finally resumed the conversation.

"We had an agreement. Tell me about your childhood."

"What do you wish to know?" After what Edward had just said, Oswald was even more uncertain about talking with him about his childhood. What had happened to Edward was horrible. Oswald, unlike him, had enjoyed a contented childhood. Of course, they had been short of money, of course, Oswald had faced hostility from bullies, but never had his mother harmed him.

"If you don't want to get wordy: What was your puberty like? Your relationship with your body? The thematization of sex in your family? Did your mother have lovers? Did you have a place to retreat to? A room of your own? Things like that." Edward's theory was that Oswald had lacked the privacy necessary to form a healthy sexuality, and that his mother had perhaps even encouraged this by keeping her son away from sexual topics, keeping him quasi-innocent and childlike. It would be of no wonder that sex frightened him now.

He quickly realized that he had overwhelmed Oswald with this number of explicit questions, so he decided to row back a bit. "Just start with your living situation. What was your apartment like? Describe it."

"From the door, you entered directly into the kitchen. To the right of the entrance stood my mother's bed and vanity, as well as the bathtub."

"Was there any partition for the bathtub?"

"There was a curtain between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment – but it was never actually closed." Oswald turned his head with a grin. "It wouldn't have made much difference, anyway. As far as I can remember, it was always either a transparent curtain or a fringed one."

"And that wasn't in any way uncomfortable? _At least_ when you were older?"

"Why would it?"

Edward wondered how someone who had no problem undressing in the presence of his mother could become a man who hid his body. Perhaps it was exactly that: nudity in the presence of family was the normal, the familiar and innocent, whereas nudity in front of other people was the abnormal, yes, the sinful. "Where was your bedroom?"

"Next to my mother's bed was a door. For the first few years it was used as just a storage room, and even later it still contained the large wardrobe me and my mother shared, but when I was about six, it became my bedroom as well."

"And up until then you had~?"

"Slept in my mother's bed – yes." He said it as a matter of course, and Edward – who was so completely unfamiliar with this from his own childhood – imagined how Oswald had crawled into bed with his mother even later because of nightmares and thunderstorms.

"Were there other rooms? A toilet, for example?"

"No. The apartment building we lived in had communal toilets in the hallway. Each floor shared one."

Edward pulled a grimace.

"But you had a bedroom – where you could retreat to." That was already more than Edward had suspected.

"As long as I was in my room, the door was usually open," Oswald explained with a relaxed expression.

"Rule?"

"My mother said she'd worry if I didn't, and I didn't have anything to hide from her anyway. Besides, that's where the wardrobe stood." The fact that the shared wardrobe had been in his bedroom had probably robbed his room of any form of privacy. And if bathing in front of each other had not been a rarity, changing in front of each other might have been as well. Edward was desperate to know if this had led to shame in Oswald's puberty, but he held back his curiosity for now, not wanting to upset his boyfriend again.

"Where did the worry come from?"

Oswald grinned, embarrassed. "The injury to my right leg that condemned me to a limp wasn't the first ankle injury I'd had. Shortly after I got my own bedroom, I had hurt the same ankle jumping on the bed. My bedroom door was locked because I thought it was funny that my mother was bothered by it. I was lying on the floor. My ankle was hurting like hell. I screamed, but because she'd been in the laundry basement, it took time before my mother heard me. With the help of neighbors, my door was broken down. She took care of my ankle, applied a splint, massaged it. We didn't have money for the hospital – actually not even for the door, which had to be replaced. The ankle healed even without a doctor – but not without leaving a lasting defect. A very slight shuffle because it had remained too stiff. Fish knew I hated the shuffling and the nickname it had earned me, which is why she took a _spiteful_ delight in breaking my ankle again, this time with more severe consequences."

Despite the mention of more current events, Edward continued to stick with Oswald's childhood. "What did you do about the door?"

"My mother started to put a small sum from the housekeeping money aside, each month. While my ankle was still healing, she kept me with her anyway. She didn't want to risk me falling out of bed and making my condition worse. And when the door was finally replaced, she hid the key."

"How long did that take?"

"The ankle or the door?"

"Both."

"The ankle about a month. The door at least a year." Oswald leaned back in his chair. "If you wanna know _more_ , maybe we should get more comfortable." Everything about him betrayed how little he wanted to continue the conversation. But Edward would rather have one long conversation than many short ones. Besides, they had no commitments until this afternoon.

"How about a walk?"

Oswald made a face as if Edward had invited him to pole vault.

"Then shouldn't we take Martin with us?" he tried to talk his way out of it.

"The boy's old enough to stay home alone. Isn't he?"

There was no arguing with that.

Oswald changed his clothes and soon they left the estate with coats and scarves. It was just before noon, which was why even the night-born Narrows were bustling. Oswald, hands buried in his coat pockets, nose pressed into his red woolen scarf, followed Edward with sluggish steps as he took them past closed clubs, pubs, and speculation offices toward the harbor. While Oswald was more than content with the silence that had fallen and the time he used to shake off the strain of the last conversation, Edward was still brooding. He struggled to judge whether he found Oswald's relationship with his mother to be unusually close and full of boundary violations only because he himself had only ever had unloving parents, or whether he had actually found the reason for Oswald's sexual repression. In any case, there indeed seemed to have been no room for privacy in his home, privacy that might have been necessary for the development of a healthy sexuality. He decided to become more specific in his questions after all, to leave as little room for speculation as possible.

"What about sex? Did your mother have other partners after your father?" When he turned to Oswald, a contorted grimace awaited him.

"No," he replied, almost shocked. " _How can you possibly think that of her?_ "

"It could very well have been that she had found someone else--"

"No. That's not how she was." Oswald drifted back into his childish rage.

Edward first considered explaining himself – after all, he had seen absolutely nothing offensive about his question – but the argument it would create led them nowhere.

"So your mother was a very composed woman when it came to this sort of thing?" he asked instead.

Oswald's eyes narrowed briefly at the question, causing Edward to tilt his head in curiosity. "Wasn't she?"

"She had no partner except my father," Oswald reiterated. The conversation was becoming more exhausting for him minute by minute.

"But?" Edward did not budge. "There was still something that bothered you."

Oswald sighed. "What do you wanna hear? That it bugged me when she suddenly started flirting with basically all of my henchmen? Or that I hated that she kept accusing me of running off with some prostitute and abandoning her? That pretty much everyone, and especially every woman – no matter what my relationship with her was – were in her eyes just layabouts, delinquents and hussies trying to take advantage of me."

Realizing how much he had spoken, Oswald pulled his face together several times and clenched his hands in the air before exclaiming, " _Why does it matter, anyway?!_ Didn't you say, there was a way to help me?"

"Must have been hard to make friends when all the time you have the feeling in the back of your mind that they could be just playing with you."

"That wasn't her fault. She was right, after all... in the end, they always deceive you, laugh at you, hurt you..."

"And you're sure you didn't scare away the very people who really wanted to be your friends along the way out of fear of getting hurt?" Edward, of all people, who had always tried and had been disappointed so many times, should have been the one of them who had lost faith in friendship altogether, but in the end, among all the shitty people, deceivers and liars, there had always been people who had returned his friendly feelings – at the GCPD that had been Lee (even if she hated him by now, but Edward couldn't care less about that).

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, and Edward dared to continue. "Would you allow me to speak my mind?"

But Oswald raised a hand defensively, averting his gaze. "No. We'll end this now. I have a headache, and an important appointment coming up later."

"Oswald... I just want to-"

" _Please_ , Ed!" He sounded aggressive, but just before he turned to leave, Edward thought he saw tears in Oswald's eyes. Edward let him leave, remaining behind; and however badly he felt for doing so, he had to praise himself: he had apparently gotten through to him a little, after all. Hopefully, Oswald would now start thinking about the rest as well. He had to take the next step alone, finally cutting the umbilical cord that had tightened around his throat.

Tbc


End file.
